Rebuild Yourself Slowly
by whynotitsfun
Summary: Sequel to Lose Yourself in the Fog. Takes place right after. I'm hoping to include a little more action in this one. Still angst because that's what I seem to always write, but I promise that there will be an eventually happy ending here. * update: Changed rating to m.. been meaning to but kept forgetting.
1. You Have To Start Somewhere

**A/N: This is the first chapter in the sequel to Lose Yourself In The Fog. Warning, I'm taking poetic license with a lot of the geography here. This chapter starts out a bit slow. Sorry, I had to try to establish a family dynamic as well as get them on the move in one fell swoop. I didn't feel it was realistic to have our fave ship just jump into happyland. Their personalities are too rich for that, and both of their characters are just too damn stubborn, so I hope you will bear with me. **

_He'd only been back for a few hours before the cries came. Exhausted he rolled out of bed just as the second one began to react to the other. Charlie followed and they each grabbed a newborn. Charlie had settled to feed their son while Monroe tried desperately to placate their daughter until it was her turn. _

_Gene had brought an old rocking chair upstairs, so Monroe made use of this after changing the tiny girl. The motion did not lull her back to sleep but it did seem to calm her down for a few minutes at a time. "I guess we need to name them," he said quietly. _

"_Yeah, you missed that," she said as she adjusted her hold on the infant in her arms. Her annoyance at him was clear._

_He knew he didn't deserve any leeway, but it still stung just a little. "Oh." He looked down at the amazing little thing in his arms. "Well? What did you name them?"_

_Charlie got up out of the bed to switch babies with him. He got up to change the cloth diaper on his now full and drowsy son. "Daniel and Angela," Charlie told him as she settled down in the rocking chair. _

_Monroe didn't respond right away. He was busy with the task of getting the diaper pinned, something he was sure he'd get better at but for now was having a difficult time with. His fingers were too big for the tiny little safety pins they had to work with. Beggars couldn't be choosers he supposed. They were lucky to have pre-blackout pins in such good condition. _

_The sting of being taken out of the naming process was soothed just a little by the fact that she'd named their daughter after one of his sisters. Of course Daniel was a gimme. "Thank you," he said as turned with little Danny in his arms. "What about their middle names?"_

"_Come up with a few. If I like them, maybe we'll use them." Charlie had picked out a few just in case he hadn't come back or hadn't wanted to be involved – and with his abrupt disappearance after their birth she hadn't known how involved he'd planned on being. But she'd already felt guilty about picking names without him so was willing to let him finish the job._

_Her words were a little cold, but the bite had gone out of her tone. He accepted the offer for what it was: she was giving him a chance. He laid little Danny down in the crib. He thought for a few minutes. "Daniel Ross… It was my mother's maiden name." He looked at Charlie waiting for her approval. _

"_Daniel Ross Math-" she stopped herself, guiltily. "Daniel Ross Monroe." She had to admit that it did have a nice ring to it. "Okay. Daniel Ross."_

_He smiled at her assent. For his daughter, he had a little more trouble. "Your dad and Miles' mom's name was Grace. She died before you were born. What about Angela Grace?" _

The first few weeks of parenthood had left them little time to discuss what had happened with the nanites and his subsequent disappearing act shortly thereafter. The only meaningful conversation they'd had at all was over names. Almost all other communication between them seemed to be limited to the monotone grunts of the truly sleep deprived. For a man that had spent almost half of his life in one battle or another, Monroe could not remember a time he was more exhausted. In moments of weakness he found himself praying for the return of disposable diapers and canned formula.

Their days quickly fell into a comfortable if not exhausting pattern. Monroe and Charlie would take turns caring for the twins throughout the night. In the mornings Priscilla (who had since been released from the nanites) would take over for caring for them in between feedings so Charlie could get some sleep and Monroe could tend to the horses and Brodie before working with Gene and Aaron to get ready for their eventual flight from the area.

More than once Aaron caught Monroe dozing at the kitchen table again after putting the horses through some paces to keep them conditioned from the journey. Aaron was starting to take pity on Monroe. How did a man go from commanding general of an army to a sleepless zombie? At the very least he could provide him with coffee. If it was laced just enough to get him going again, well what Charlie didn't know couldn't hurt them.

In the afternoons they would tag team with their parenting duties. Much to the amusement of the others, they picked up the odd habit of playing Rock, Paper, Scissors to determine who would drop whatever they were doing to change them before Charlie fed them. More often than not, Monroe would complain that somehow Charlie had to be cheating because he seemed to lose far more frequently than he won.

While parenting became more comfortable for them, whatever their relationship was had not. They may be sharing a bed, but Charlie seemed to go from hot to cold on a daily basis. He no longer denied to himself that he loved her, but he was starting to think that Gene had no idea what he'd been talking about the day he'd talked Monroe down from leaving.

One night Charlie might curl up in his arms, kissing him with all the passion of a woman in love, but the next night she'd treat him like a complete stranger. He was confounded and frustrated, but he couldn't bring himself to push her. The fact that she'd even let him this close was more than he knew he deserved. All he could do was wait patiently to see if she finally made up her mind one way or the other.

As the first few weeks passed, Gene followed the instructions Monroe had laid out for him to prepare for their trip east. He'd already gotten ahold of a rather large wagon. Now all they needed was to slowly accumulate supplies. The diamonds Monroe had brought with him was more than sufficient, but they needed to avoid attention with the Patriots so near. Monroe couldn't very well show his face among the locals, so he had to give up control to Gene and Aaron. He hated the inaction but between helping Charlie and planning their flight he wouldn't have had the time to go into town even if he'd been able.

Danny and Angie were almost a month old when their hands were finally forced. Monroe was in the garage rubbing down the horses after having spent the morning working with them. All things considered, it had been a good morning. The kids had slept half the night so he'd actually gotten some sleep for once. He was just about to leave the detached garage and head back in the house when he heard the sound of a yelp coming from the house.

It sounded like Brodie, but he hadn't ever heard the dog quite make that sound before. Monroe suddenly had a very bad feeling. Instinctively, he slowly crept out of the garage. He'd brought a pistol with him just in case, but the rest of his weapons were in the house. He silently entered from the back door near the kitchen. As he rounded the corner he saw a telltale tan uniform. The man wearing it had his back to Monroe for the moment.

There didn't seem to be any other patriots in the kitchen. Monroe stashed the gun in the back of his jeans and reached out to the Patriot from behind. He snapped the man's neck before he had a chance to react, catching the body as it fell. He paused for a few seconds, listening to see if anyone may have heard. He had no idea how many Patriots might be in the house. _Where is everybody?_ He wondered. When he'd left this morning Gene was planning on heading out, but as far as he knew Aaron and Priscilla had planned on staying behind.

After stopping to pick up a knife from the block on the kitchen counter, he carefully made his way into the hallway. He found another soldier at the bottom of the stairs. He rushed the man, slitting his throat before moving on to the living room. Finding the rest of the lower level clear, Monroe headed back the back door and carefully walked around the side of the house. He saw another man standing guard on the front porch.

Watching him from around the corner, he bent down and picked up a small rock. He tossed it at the edge of the covered porch, which sent the Patriot his way. A few seconds later the man was down. "I can't believe that actually worked," Monroe muttered under his breath. He'd only seen the 'attract the guard with the rock' routine work in movies.

Monroe made his way back into the house, confident now that no one would be trying to take him from behind. Drawing his gun again, Monroe slowly made his way up the stairs. He could hear voices coming from the room he and Charlie shared. He checked the other bedrooms just to make sure they were empty. Now at the end of the hallway, he could hear who was with his family. Charlie saw him edge into the room, but to her credit she didn't react. She stood in the corner next to the crib. Despite the defiant expression on her face, Monroe could see the utter terror in her eyes.

"What are you doing here, Tom?" He asked once he was fully in the room. His gun was pointed at Neville's back. His first instinct was to take the shot, but he couldn't risk it with Tom standing so close to Charlie or the crib. If the bullet went through it could hit Charlie or the twins.

Neville turned slowly. He held little Danny in his arms. He knew that as long as he held that baby, he was in no danger. "Well, well, well. Look who we have here. Hello, General."

"Put the baby down, Tom." Monroe said coldly as he stepped closer. Neville just held the baby tighter. Sensing something was wrong the newborn let out a wail. Monroe started to see red. "I swear to god, if you don't put my son down I will shoot you."

Tom looked incredulous. "You and the Matheson girl? Well isn't that interesting. Wonder what her mom things about that one. And the Thanksgivings get stranger and stranger with you people." He gave Monroe a calculating look. "You know damn good and well you're not going to shoot me." Tom held the baby a bit higher now as if to emphasize the reason for his confidence.

"Don't be so sure about that," Monroe did some emphasizing of his own now as he gripped the gun tighter and took another careful step forward.

Tom merely smiled. "If you try to shoot me, my men will retaliate."

"Oh you mean those three dead guys I left downstairs? Not going to help you."

Tom laughed. "Too bad you didn't find the fourth one."

That at least explained where Aaron and Priscilla were. The last man had to have them held up somewhere. Monroe watched as Charlie darted her eyes to the crib. He looked past Neville to see it was empty. It hit him: Priscilla must have had Angie with her. He couldn't shoot Neville now. The other man might hear and it would get Aaron and Priscilla killed, not to mention his daughter. Monroe took his finger off the trigger and pointed the pistol at the ceiling. "What do you want, Tom?"

"As much as it disgusts me to work with these Patriots, they were my best chance to find the people who got my boy killed. They want Miss Matheson for questioning." Neville's cruel tone implied just what type of questioning that would be. "Imagine my luck to find you here too," he added.

"You'll never make it out alive if you try to take her, Tom."

Tom laughed again. He sounded almost demented. "Oh, I'm not planning on turning her in now. You did me a favor. Now that those tan assholes are dead, I don't have to worry about them forcing me to bring her in alive." He looked down at the bundle in his arms.

Monroe felt sick. This was about Jason. A man like Neville would see the irony in the 'eye for an eye' scenario they now found themselves in. They had to make a move. Monroe locked eyes with Charlie. Tom might be good at reading people, but the communication between a Monroe and Matheson was something entirely different. She nodded behind Tom's back, knowing what Monroe wanted her to do.

Charlie carefully reached into the crib and pulled out a blanket. She waited for Monroe to signal that he was ready and then pulled the cloth tightly over Neville's face, holding on as tight as she could. At the same time, Monroe stepped forward with the knife he'd concealed and jammed it up under Neville's chin. The baby was caught between Neville's body and Monroe's chest. Charlie released her hold on the blanket and reached around to grab Danny before he was crushed.

"Where are the others?" Monroe asked as he let Neville's body drop to the floor.

Charlie checked her son over. He was crying but seemed unharmed. "I don't know. I was putting Danny back down when Neville came in. Where were you?"

Monroe took one last look at Neville. He couldn't resist, and he kicked the man's corpse. "I was in the garage. What happened to the dog? I heard him yelping."

"I don't know. He wasn't in here when they showed up," Charlie said as she settled Danny back into the crib. She hated to leave them, but she didn't have a choice. Charlie reached into the closet and pulled out her crossbow. "Ready?"

Nodding, they headed back down the stairs. He paused by the hall closet to get his sword belt before heading outside. They stopped at the front porch, where he gestured for her to take the lead. "You're the tracker, I just work here."

"I think you're better at it than you let on. You followed me to Texas easily enough," she muttered as she looked at the ground for signs of where the others were taken.

"Sweetheart, you're good. But you are horrible at covering your own tracks. Aaron could have found you." As he watched her look for the trail, he thought strategy. Tom had implied the fourth guy would have heard a gunshot, so he had to be close. The house was rather isolated, so they had to be on the property somewhere. "What about the well house? If one guy is keeping both Aaron and Priscilla, he'd need someplace to hold them."

Charlie started to head that direction. As they walked, she picked up the trail. "How did you know?"

Monroe chuckled as they walked. "I'm not just a pretty face. I'm smarter than I look."

They found Brodie pacing outside of the well house, growling as he limped. Seeing Monroe and Charlie, he sat down and wagged his tail, whining. There were no windows in the structure, so they had no way of knowing what was going on inside. He could only assume that the soldier would be between his captives and the door. It was the most strategic position. Without hesitation he kicked in the door with swords drawn. He couldn't risk shooting his way in; the stone walls could cause a bullet to ricochet.

The Patriot turned as the wood door crashed in. He never stood a chance. Monroe slashed, taking him down with one hit. He looked up at where Aaron and Priscilla stood against the back wall. "Everyone okay?" He sheathed his swords and took Angie from Priscilla. He just needed to reassure himself that she was unharmed.

Turning around he walked left the building with Aaron and Priscilla following behind him, both visibly shaken. As soon as Charlie saw he had everything under control, she headed back to the house and to Danny. Handing his daughter back to Priscilla, Monroe stopped Aaron at the front porch. "We're leaving today. Pack everything we have."

Several hours later they had packed everything they could. Gene had returned from town with a few more supplies shortly after the Patriots had been taken care of. He'd helped Aaron what supplies they'd been able to accumulate while Priscilla and Charlie packed everything they'd need to take care of the twins on the road.

Monroe took care of the patriots and covering up what had happened here. Charlie had been upset over the notion that her family would have no way of knowing where to find her should they ever return. Monroe had a solution for that. He found an old mason jar in the kitchen. He wrote "Providence, KY" on a slip of paper and put it in the jar. He buried this with the patriot from the well house. On a piece of ply wood he carved the name "Grace Sullivan" before nailing it to a post he'd driven into the ground above the body. Charlie questioned this. "Miles will recognize his mother's maiden name. He'll know it's bullshit and hopefully will dig up the grave and find the jar."

"Won't he also find the rotting body?" She asked, disgusted.

"Added bonus," he said casually as he headed into the garage to get the horses hitched and ready.

Charlie rolled her eyes as she followed him. "You really are twisted."

He tossed her the reins to one of the horses as he led the other two out. "You have no idea," he laughed.

It was dusk before they were ready to go. Gene and Aaron sat on the wagon bench with Charlie, Priscilla and Brodie riding with the twins in the back. Monroe intended on riding the third horse for the time being. He'd drug the patriot from the porch into the house and had left the others inside. Before they left he grabbed the two bottles of moonshine from Aaron's stash. He lit them on fire, turning the bottles into Molotov Cocktails. He threw one of them through an upstairs window and the other into the picture window in the living room. The locals and Patriots expected there to be four people here. Well, they'd find four bodies at least. And, if luck was with them they wouldn't be identifiable when the fire died down. They lingered only long enough to make sure the house would burn and then headed out into the night.


	2. Lost Parts Are On Back Order

**A/N: Ahhh.. The dreaded Chapter 2. It's always a transition chapter for me, so is always one of the hardest. Most of the next several chapters are written (just need to be retyped, edited, etc.). But there are always those chapters in between that must connect the different isolated scenes that make up this story. This gets them from Louisiana to Kentucky (where the majority of the story will take place). Initially this was two chapters, but I can't stand to have 2 transition chapters in a row, so I joined them together to make one longer chapter. Most of the "action" so to speak is in relationship development and a few conversations here and there. And, of course Daniel is back. He was harder to write in this story. In Lose Yourself In The Fog he came pretty easily: old, a little grizzly, kind of like a redneck country boy Mr. Miyagi, if you will. For some reason, I kept having to go back and make him a little less formal... Anyway, I hope my promise for some actual action will forgive the slowness of this chapter. As always, I appreciate your feedback. What did you like, not like, etc? :-)**

Monroe had done a lot of traveling since the power had gone out. He and Miles had walked from Parris Island from Chicago. He'd even stumbled from the Tower to New Vegas with nothing more than the clothes on his back, but noting could have prepared him for traveling with two newborns. Aaron and Priscilla had walked the distance in three weeks, but even with the cooler weather settling in, they had to move slowly.

Even in the south the weather was unpredictable in winter, so they had to stay close enough to civilization so they could stop if needed but far enough away to avoid the Patriots and anyone that would recognize Monroe. Because of the twins they had to start later in the day than he liked and had to make frequent stops throughout the day. So instead of traveling for a good eight to ten hours a day they would be lucky to get in six. Some days they only managed four or five.

The close proximity of the others ensured that Monroe and Charlie still had not been able to talk about what had happened the day Danny and Angie were born. He knew there would never be a resolution between them until that happened. She needed to know the truth. As far as she knew, the Republic was something he still sought for the future. He could say otherwise until he was blue in the face, but if she didn't know why, she'd never believe it and it would always hang between them, along with everything else.

She was still very hot and cold with him, only now with everyone being together at all times, Charlie was more distant than before. The only time he felt like there was something more there on her end was during the nights. Gene had been able to procure an old nylon tent. When he was not on watch, they would lay there with the twins between them to keep them warm. He'd catch her watching him from time to time, her expression soft. On those nights they'd lock eyes long enough to lose track of the time and when he worked up the nerve to lean over and kiss her, she wouldn't push him away for once. But sooner or later he'd have to go on watch or one of the twins would fuss and the spell would be broken.

Twice they'd had to stop for days due to the freezing temperatures. They'd found small towns both times that had a safe place for Charlie and the twins to stay. Of course, Monroe couldn't join them. It was simply too risky. He'd had to camp a few hours outside of town – alone. As a precaution, the others could not go back and forth between his camp and Charlie. The last thing they needed was someone getting suspicious and following them. So, he'd had to wait it out nervous and alone.

The first time had only been for a few days. But this second time it had already been almost a week with no sign of the temperature rising. He sat alone by his small fire with Brodie at his feet. The dog's injured leg from the day of Neville's attack had healed so his days of backseat driving were now over. Monroe took one last bite of his slightly overdone rabbit. Too annoyed (and if he'd only admit it, lonely) to eat he went to toss the rest of his meal to the dog when suddenly Brodie took off into the woods.

"No, that's not weird," he murmured as he dropped the rabbit and slowly drew his gun. Monroe silently stalked off in the direction his dog had headed when he heard a playful yap. Brodie came bounding back happily with Gene not far behind. "What's up doc?" he said flatly as he uncocked the weapon and headed back to the fire. Brodie had already reached the discarded meat and was gulping it down, tail wagging.

"Just thought you could use some company," Gene said as he sat down next to the dog and gave him a friendly pat.

Monroe didn't believe that for a second. "Charlie sent you, didn't she?" Gene's look confirmed it. "She afraid I'd get bored and wander off?"

"Give her some credit. She was just a little worried about you being stuck out here alone," Gene snapped. This thing between Monroe and his granddaughter was starting to get on his nerves. Charlie bordered on protective when it came to Monroe when it was behind his back. But, he'd seen the annoyed indifference she often portrayed for his benefit. It was like she was putting on some kind of show. And of course all Monroe did was mope about and assume the worst of her motivations towards him. But then he'd catch little glimpses of tenderness between them, which only seemed to bolster her efforts at pushing him away later.

When Charlie had caught that fever when she was pregnant and had talked openly about Monroe and her feelings for him, she'd been very clear that she cared about him very much. It was the sole reason behind her hiding the truth from him and later letting him go. He didn't know why she was so adamant to ignore those feelings now.

They sat in silence for a while before Gene tried again. "So where exactly are we headed?" For all the work he'd done with Monroe to get ready for this trip, the former general hadn't been very forthcoming on their end destination.

Monroe took out his knife and began sharpening it on a whetstone. "Providence, Kentucky."

"And what's in Providence?" Gene asked, his curiosity having been piqued.

"A friend," was all Monroe said. He wasn't in the mood for gene's attempts at idle chit-chat.

"Really? That's… nice." Gene winced when he realized he'd just insulted Monroe unintentionally. "I mean –"

Monroe raised a brow at him. 'Wow Gene. That's great. So I can't have friends now?"

Gene flushed guiltily. Charlie had practically ordered him to 'be nice'. He would never come to truly like Monroe, but he really had been trying. He knew that if anyone could and would protect Charlie and his great-grandchildren it would be him; even if it meant protecting them from himself. That did command a certain amount of respect. And, one thing he would never forget was the terrified and injured man that had woken up with a broken mind and body after having saved Gene's entire family. "I'm sorry. That came out wrong," he finally added. "I was just surprised that you had contacts in the Georgia Federation, with all the bad blood between them and the Republic."

Having finished with the knife, Monroe examined the edge one more time before putting it away. "I met him later – after I left."

Uncomfortable, Gene changed the subject. "So why are we headed east? If we want to hide from the Patriots, wouldn't it be better to go the opposite direction from where they're based?"

Monroe now pulled out his swords and looked them over. He'd already done this a week ago, but other than taking care of his weapons, he had little else to do. "We can't go west. That's where the actual fighting is. They're concentrated in larger groups in the Plains. Out east they're spread thinner. Plus it's easier to hide in plain sight. Daniel will hide us."

Gene thought about this for a second. Miles had thought the same thing of him when he'd brought a catatonic Rachel to Willoughby, not having known he'd been helping the Patriots all along. They'd tried to keep their plans a secret from him not because they didn't trust him but because they thought they were protecting him in the event they were caught. And they'd been so wrong. "How do you know you can trust him? I mean he could have allied himself with the Patriots years ago."

Monroe looked up from what he was doing. "Like you did? Not Daniel. He stuck his neck out for me even though he knew who I was from the start. If he was going to double cross me, he'd had countless chances to do it. We can trust him."

"For Charlie's sake and the sake of your children, I hope you're right."

Monroe sighed. "The mother of my children tried to shoot me in the head with a crossbow. You were happy and honored to be the guy to execute me." He watched Gene squirm at those words. "And yet for some reason, I trust you both not to kill me in my sleep. If I can trust the two of you, then you can trust Daniel. For one, he's never tried to kill me."

They spent the rest of the night without speaking. There was little else left to say. And the next day passed pretty much the same way. They couldn't risk Gene going back. His absence and subsequent return to town might be noticed, so they were stuck with each other until the day after. That morning, the weather quickly grew mild. They would press on as soon as Charlie and the others arrived. It was a good thing too. They'd already been on the road for three weeks and were only a little over halfway there – and their funds were getting low from having to pay for the past week's accommodations. Monroe had already learned the hard way that looking for work on the way was not an option.

It was late morning before the others arrived with the wagon. As they approached, Gene noticed the mixture of relief and longing that Monroe betrayed before he got himself under control and masked his emotions. The journey from town had taken over two hours; they would have to break before moving on. Today they would not travel very far, but Monroe was glad to get moving again.

He didn't bother lying to himself. He'd missed Charlie every bit as much as he'd missed his children. This was the longest he'd been away from them since the twins had been born, and it was harder than he'd thought. He couldn't imagine now how he had considered walking away from them.

Monroe took Angie from Priscilla so she could jump down. Charlie was already settled with Danny to feed him. He sat down next to her and watched her for several minutes while she nursed. "What?" Charlie asked, no longer able to stay quiet.

"It's nothing," Monroe said as he dropped his eyes to look at the baby he held.

Charlie wasn't buying it. "You're still a bad liar; it's something." She knew she was embarrassing him, but something inside her couldn't resist.

"It's just… I, uh missed… them," he stammered as he stood up. Angie had already sensed her brother was getting fed and was no longer happy to sit quietly. He paced with her to calm her down.

Charlie took pity on Monroe. She knew none of this was easy on him. It wasn't easy on her either. She'd missed him as well, despite her refusal to admit it. "Well maybe they missed you a little too." She watched him brighten a little at her quasi-admission. _Why does this have to be so hard?_ Charlie asked herself. She knew he loved her, and deep down she reciprocated those feelings. But it was one thing to indulge in being held at night and a few kisses here and there. It was something else to accept a relationship when she was confronted with it in the light of day, especially with the past hanging over them at every turn.

When they finally got on the road again later that day, Monroe joined Charlie in the back of the wagon for a little while. This had been the first time he'd done so since they'd left. He'd been trying to give her some space. He'd thought there would be plenty of time to try and figure things out when they got to Kentucky, but he was sick of waiting.

The rest of their journey proved uneventful. The weather remained mild for the most part so they didn't have to separate again. He made it a point to sit with her for an hour or two each day before trading spots with Priscilla and riding again. The weeks of distance had only served to make things more uncomfortable between them, and he was determined that would end. When it all came down to it, they were in this together.

They were a few days inside of Kentucky when one morning he approached her before she had a chance to settle herself in the wagon. "Ride with me a while," he said from behind as she handed Danny off to Priscilla.

Charlie turned around to face him. She could see the hope and determination written all over his face. "What about the twins?"

"Come on, Charlie. Priscilla and Aaron can take care of them for a few hours." He refused to let her use Danny and Angie as an excuse.

As if on cue, Aaron jumped into the back of the wagon. Charlie knew a conspiracy when she saw one. Resigned, she nodded and walked over to Monroe's horse. She waited for him to mount, intent on riding behind him. Monroe stood there with his arms crossed and waited. Charlie sent him a challenging look. She'd agreed to ride with him but was determined to do it her way. "You asked for it," he warned as he quickly moved and grabbed her by the waist. Charlie let out a quiet squeal in protest as he lifted her up and set her on the saddle.

Before she could open her mouth to argue he quickly mounted behind her and took up the reins. She had little choice but to settle her back against his chest and sit with his arms around her. "I wanted to talk to you. Hard to do that if you're sitting behind me, Charlie."

Charlie couldn't tell if he was annoyed or amused. In reality, he was a little of both. He gently kicked the horse into motion and they started the day's journey. Charlie tried to ignore the way his body moved in sync with the animal as it trotted along. "Well, you wanted to talk, so talk."

"Jesus Charlie, does everything have to be a battle between us?" Monroe waited for a response from her, but she was apparently determined to pout. "I don't want to fight with you. This isn't what either of us had planned, and we've both got reasons to be angry with each other."

Charlie spoke up now, "_You _have reasons?"

He let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, I know you've got more and better reasons than I do. But you lied to me Charlie. You may have had good intentions behind it, but you still tried to hide that you were going to have my baby – or babies as it happened."

"And you left us the moment they were born," Charlie shot back, not to be undone.

Of all the things she could have attacked him about, he was surprised that this was the one she'd chosen. He'd been gone a day. Just long enough to get his head straight after what had happened with the nanites. "But I still came back. I meant what I said. I always will." She didn't' seem so convinced regardless. "What all do you know about what happened that night?"

"Just that I had a complication and that those nano-things healed me somehow; just like the healed Aaron after the Andover clan attacked Willoughby."

Unconsciously, Monroe tightened one arm around Charlie. "You were dying. You were bleeding out in my arms and there wasn't a damn thing we could do to save you. And then Priscilla was there. Those things had taken her over, and I begged her to save you."

The rawness in his voice struck her. "And she did, and I'm fine."

"It wasn't as simple as that." Charlie turned her head to look up at him, clearly waiting for him to elaborate. "There is a cost for everything in life, Charlie." When she asked him what he meant by that, he clammed up. Monroe had fully intended on telling her everything about that night, but in the end chickened out. How could he bring himself to tell her what he'd almost done when she could very well hate him for it later?

As the silence between them stretched, he felt Charlie becoming more rigid in the saddle. Apparently she was not happy with the way the conversation had ended. "Listen, I'm not ready to talk about why I tried to take off, but I did it because I care about you, okay? I told you that night outside of Austin – I don't have to pretend." Before he had a chance to think the action through, Monroe brought a hand up to pull her hair to one side, exposing the column of her neck to him. He briefly entertained the idea of kissing her there; just to see what she'd do. He thought better of it though. In the mood Charlie was in, she'd probably just try to knock him off the horse if he did.

The intimacy of the gesture was not lost on Charlie though. Sighing, she leaned back against his chest. Her feelings for him may have been conflicted, but one thing she couldn't deny was how good it felt to sit there with his arms around her. Smiling she just started to enjoy the ride.

After almost five weeks on the road, they'd finally reached Providence. Not wanting to attract attention on their way in, Monroe made the decision to go around the town and head straight for Daniel's farm. He had no way of knowing if the Patriots had been around in his absence, and it wasn't worth the risk to find out the hard way.

Brodie raced ahead as Monroe turned the wagon down the main drive. Charlie held their daughter next to him on the bench. Within half an hour their journey would finally be over. She was anxious to finally get off the road and was curious to finally see the place he'd settled down in before coming back for her. Whenever Monroe had talked about Daniel Forrester and his farm, a certain peace seemed to come over him that she'd never seen before.

Finally the farmhouse came into view. In the distance, Brodie was running around in circles in the main yard. It amused Monroe to see the dog acting like a little puppy. "Well, someone's happy to be home." He did not notice the sidelong glance Charlie gave him at his use of the word 'home'.

Monroe stopped the wagon in front of the house just as Daniel came out to stand on the porch. He climbed down and reached for the baby in Charlie's arms so she could join them. "Let a boy take in a dog, and sure enough he starts bringin' home more strays," the old Farmer cackled as he shuffled down the porch stairs to greet them.

Charlie watched as Monroe shifted Angie to shake the old man's hand warmly. "I figured you could use some company. How you been Daniel?"

"Old and crotchety as ever. You look well, Sebastian. So who you brung with ya?" Daniel asked, his gaze switching from Charlie to the sleeping bundle Monroe held.

Monroe's free hand went to the small of Charlie's back, gently urging her forward. "Daniel Forrester, meet Charlie Matheson."

The old man held out his hand. "So you're the one?" He looked at Monroe with approval. "Well she's a pretty thing, I'll give you that."

Monroe laughed. "Don't let her fool you. You'd be surprised how much ass she can kick." The others had now joined them. "This is Charlie's grandfather, Gene."

"Pleasure," Daniel said, shaking Gene's hand as well. "Well I see you brought your bearded friend and his unusual girlfriend," he added as he nodded to Aaron.

"Priscilla, this is Daniel," Monroe introduced them. "She's not the same as before. The only thing unusual about her now is that she sleeps with Aaron." Charlie elbowed him then, not finding his joke funny. The motion caused Angie to stir. Priscilla smirked as she handed Danny off to Charlie.

Daniel gestured towards the twins now. "And what do we have here?"

"This is Danny," Charlie answered as she showed off her son. "And the other one is Angie." Something about the old farmer in front of her made her feel comfortable about this place. She could see why Monroe may have been happy here. For one, she noticed right away how Daniel's face softened when he got a good look at the twins. You had to like an old man that loved babies.

"Danny, huh?" the old man laughed.

Monroe rolled his eyes. "Don't let your ego run away with you, old man. He's named after Charlie's brother. Although he can get about as crabby as you, so maybe it works out."

Daniel just laughed him off as he gestured them all to come inside. "No use standin' out in the cold when there's a perfectly good fire inside."

Later that afternoon Monroe and Daniel sat in the living room with Gene. Aaron and Priscilla had wandered off to the stable and Charlie was busy feeding the twins. "So what brings you back, Sebastian?" Daniel asked as he poured all three of them a liberal drink.

Monroe reached out to take the glass he was offered. "Patriots showed up, so we had to cut out of Louisiana. I didn't know where else to go. We don't want to put you out, Daniel. I know it's a large group for you to take in."

Daniel waved off his concern. "Rubbish. I told you were welcome back if you had a need, and I meant it. There's more than enough room. Things get cramped we can always fix up the old bunkhouse." He took a sip of his whiskey. "Besides, spring planting'll be here soon enough. You know I can always use the extra hands."

"That we can do." Daniel had taken him in at a time he was desperate and low. He felt guilty repaying him for that kindness by giving him seven more mouths to feed. He'd been clear with the others that they would need to get used to being farmers, especially if they were going to blend in with the rest of the community.

"How long you figure on stayin' on?" Daniel asked.

Monroe set the glass down and leaned forward on his seat. "Daniel, we don't know what's going to happen with the Patriots. Texas and Cali are forcing them east, but things in the plains will only get more hostile. And I can't go back to Texas." He knew he was about to ask a lot, but it was now or never. "I can't speak for the others, but Charlie and I will stay as long as you'll have us. We can't raise kids on the run."

Daniel thought about this. "Well now. It'd be nice to have little uns running around this place again, I suppose."

"Thank you," Monroe said with no little amount of gratitude.

That evening Monroe knocked gently on the door to the room he'd used when he'd been here before. He heard Charlie's invitation for him to open the door. Taking a deep breath he opened it to find her unpacking what clothes she'd managed to bring. His own pack was in the corner of the room next to the closet. "Hey," He said, unsure of himself.

Charlie looked up briefly from her task before turning her attention back to putting things away in the drawers. "We're lucky your friend is such a packrat. He had some nursery furniture in the attic from when his old kids were little. It's old, but it looks okay. Aaron got the crib down for me. We can get the rest down tomorrow."

"Good," he mumbled as he sat down on the edge of the bed to watch her. "Listen, with so many people there isn't enough space for me to have a separate room. If that's a problem, I can stay in the stable until I can fix up the bunkhouse."

Charlie picked up is pack and moved to hand it to him. Assuming she was effectively telling him to take a hike, he sighed as he reached out to grab it. When he realized it was empty, he shot her a questioning look. "You were easier to unpack. We really have to get you some clothes. The rest of your gear is in the closet. Do something with that, will you?"

"Yes ma'am," he said as he stopped to pick up her now empty bag and take them to the tack room in the stable. When he returned a short time later, Charlie had already doused the lantern and gotten into bed. He quickly undressed down to his boxers and climbed in to join her.

Charlie laid on the far side of the bed with her back to him. Uncertain, he stared at the ceiling. It had been a long five weeks, so he knew she had to be exhausted. Hell, he was too. _So much for finally being alone_, he thought as he listened to her breaths slowly evening out as she fell asleep. She shifted towards him in her sleep just a little. He rolled over on his side and tried to get comfortable. _I am such an idiot_. Giving in to what was probably a stupid impulse, Monroe pulled her sleeping form over to him. They had to start somewhere, and this was as good a place as any. Wrapped around her, he finally fell asleep.


	3. Square Pegs, Round Holes

**A/N: This chapter took me longer to finish than I realized. The back half of it was already written, but the first half was hard. I kept catching myself going on long tangents trying to describe what has been going on with everyone after arriving. I have lots of material for that, but I ended up doing it a different way (hence the little "flashbacks") Hopefully it gets the point across without boring to tears where the action starts (bear with this, yes I promise… There **_**is**_** action!). Also, please forgive me in advance for Gene's new alias. I really couldn't resist. I figure if Miles can steal a name from Stephen King, well Gene can steal his from a different source. Haha! Please let me know what you like, don't like. Etc. It helps with future chapters if I know where to improve! **

_The spring piglets have come. Monroe is indulging himself with spending a few hours with Charlie. It's Sunday, and Daniel insists that this is the day reserved each week for light work, spending time with family and going into town. "Aww..." Charlie says as she looks at them. _

_Monroe raises a brow at her, "Really?" Still, he can't help but think that the way her face softens as she picks up a piglet is appealing. She's usually so pragmatic of a person that watching her like this is a welcome change. _

_Charlie sets the piglet back down. "Come on, Monroe. They're kind of cute. Like little curly-tailed babies." She turns to face him, still smiling._

_He subtly shifts closer to her. "If you say so," he laughs as he leans his arms on the gate. She turns around, copying his posture. They are standing shoulder to shoulder, which he finds strangely exciting. Not wanting to ruin the moment, he does not move. _

"_Why isn't that one with the others?" Charlie suddenly says, pointing to the corner of the pen. Her features break out into a look of concern._

_Monroe's gaze follows her finger to see a small little piglet quite a ways from its littermates. "Looks like the runt. The others won't let it near the mother."_

_Charlie understands what he's not saying. The runt will probably die. "Poor thing," she murmurs as she walks away. _

_Later that night, Aaron gets up to use the outhouse. As he goes through the kitchen he is met with a strange site. Monroe sits at the table. A very tiny piglet, wrapped in a towel is in his large hand; a feed bottle is in the other. "Um… That's a pig." He says._

"_Thanks for clearing that up, Captain Obvious," Monroe says as he turns his attention back to the little animal. It greedily takes in the formula that Daniel told him to make. He knows the animal's odds are still slim, but Charlie had seemed so sad at the idea of the thing not making it._

"_Okay then… So we have a pet pig now. Good to know," Aaron stammers as he makes his way out back. A few minute later when he returns, Monroe is just finishing up. It seems weird to see a grown man cradling a pig like it's a baby. "So, what's with Wilbur here?"_

"_Runt of the litter. Mother wasn't feeding it, so I figured I'd see if I could save him," Monroe explains. He's set up a little pen of sorts on the kitchen floor. He sets the piglet inside it. He'll move it to the barn in a few days, but he wants to keep an eye on it. _

"_So did Charlie name it yet?" Aaron has figured out why Monroe is trying to save the pig. Having known Charlie since she was a kid, Aaron is very familiar with her secret love of animals._

_Monroe rolls his eyes at Aaron. "Shut up," he says with just a hint of humor as he picks up the feed bottle. He doesn't notice the blue eyes that are watching him from the dark living room._

Charlie looked over at the man that sat next to her on the bench as he gently guided the horses. It was early June now. It was hard to believe that they'd been here for only four months now. Somehow it seemed a lot longer. They had all settled into life on the farm quite easily. Monroe had reassumed the identity of Daniel's nephew, Michael Andrews. In public, she now went by the name Nichole, an as far as anyone knew she was his wife.

She'd protested that one at first, but Daniel had gotten her to see the logic in it. After all, Monroe was the father of her children and the locals would find it easier to believe that she was left behind until after she gave birth. It also helped to explain the way "Michael" showed up on the farm only to disappear and then show back up again later.

Gene was introduced as her grandfather, but had taken on a new name as well. The name Gene Porter was buried and replaced with Jack Shepherd. Gene had come up with that one on the fly. Monroe had almost lost it when he'd been told about Gene's new alias. "What? It was a great show, and the character was a doctor," Charlie's grandfather had insisted.

Monroe wasn't about to admit he agreed (his appreciation for that particular show had been closet at best), but it took him weeks to stop making random references to islands and smoke monsters and saying things like "What's wrong, Jack? You're looking a bit… lost". Of course Charlie never quite figured out why Monroe thought it was so funny, but she'd never quite gotten his sense of humor anyway.

Aaron and Priscilla simply changed their last names to Phillips. It was easier on them because Priscilla hadn't been known to the Patriots at all and Aaron had only been known in small circles. With Horne dead, no one would be looking for him now.

All things considered, life on the farm was pretty good. Danny and Angie were growing like weeds and were happy and loved babies. Not only did they have the love and attention of Charlie and Monroe, but Gene doted on them. Even Daniel spoiled them. Having lost his own grandchildren in the Atlanta bombing, Danny and Angie were almost surrogates for him now.

Charlie and Monroe had found a comfortable balance between work and their roles as parents. Priscilla watched the twins in between feedings while they both worked around the farm, but whenever they were in the house they spent as much time with Danny and Angie as possible. After the evening meal they'd gotten into the habit of stretching out on the living room floor with them, encouraging them to crawl (which Charlie was convinced would happen any day now). They just enjoyed being parents.

Charlie hadn't thought she'd take to this quiet life so well, but she was actually starting to enjoy it. She'd even taken over the daily workings in the dairy at Daniel's urging. Monroe did whatever else needed to be done around the farm, usually dragging Aaron along as a pack mule or slave labor. The friendship that had sprung up between the two men was almost bizarre. Monroe would act like Aaron was incompetent, whereas Aaron was convinced that Monroe was just an idiot. But, they got along well enough (much to Charlie's constant astonishment), especially when alcohol was involved.

Priscilla was more than happy to take over the bulk of the work in the farmhouse, which suited Charlie just fine. She'd never planned on cooking and cleaning as a lifestyle choice anyway. When the weather was decent, Charlie would bring the twins with her to the dairy. Monroe had paid a guy in town to make a wooden playpen of sorts for her to put them in while she worked. The local kids still came to help on the farm, and they always seemed to find a reason to visit the dairy and take turns playing with them.

Gene and Daniel had become good friends almost from the get go. They were close enough in age that they shared the same generational memories. Daniel's gruff manner almost seemed to compliment Gene's more formal one. It almost reminded Charlie of the friendship between Miles and Monroe.

_The dream is an old one. He's had it countless times. He is in Iraq again. The roadside bomb goes off. He watches in horror as half his unit is taken out in an instant. Suddenly, he is back on base again. In his mind, he knows that only a few days have passed. A message is waiting for him when he arrives. He has to come home: there's been an accident._

_He turns around in a panic to see that he's in Jasper again. He sees himself in the mirror. The same dark suit and tie he'd worn. He turns away from the mirror and he's suddenly at the gravesite, surrounded by mourners. The parish priest concludes the same service. Closing his eyes, he reopens them to find himself in his parent's house. The same people mill about the living room, approaching him to offer their condolences._

_The scene fades and it's night. He's at the cemetery again. In his hands are a bottle of jack and his father's 9mm. He looks down at the graves. In reality, the headstones would not be erected for another six months. The ground needs time to settle. But this is a dream; they are already here. He reads the names one by one. But something is wrong. There's one stone to many. The fifth name stares back at him: Matheson. He realizes then that he is completely alone. He raises the gun to his head and pulls the trigger._

_The sound of the gunshot echoes in his ears as he sits up in bed, sweating and trying to catch his breath. He looks around wildly as his eyes adjust to the dim moonlit room – their room. Panting, he feels Charlie stir beside him. It's been years since he's had this dream. The last time was just a few days after a rebel set off a bomb in a restaurant in Philly._

_His nightmare has woken Charlie. She sits up and gently places her hand on his shoulder. "Hey," she says, trying to get his attention. "Hey, are you okay?" she tries again. Her concern is evident in her tone._

_He turns to look at her and sees the worry etched on her face. He swallows hard and takes a deep breath, trying to calm his pounding heart. Not yet trusting his own voice, Monroe nods at her. She lies back down, drawing him down with her. He settles back down on the pillow. Finding it damp from the sweat, he reaches behind himself and flips it over. _

"_It was just a dream," Charlie murmurs as she rests her head on his shoulder and sets her hand on his bare chest. She can feel his heartbeat – his pulse is still racing. "Just a dream," she repeats again. _

_Staring at the ceiling, Monroe covers her hand with his own. He takes the comfort she offers without question. It's moments like these that remind him why he loves her. "Do you want to talk about it?" She asks him after several minutes pass._

_He turns his head to look at her again. In the dim light, she is beautiful. Her hair is spilling around her like a halo. This isn't something he can share. "It's nothing. Just a dream," he repeats her words. He takes a risk and lightly presses his lips to hers. Much to Monroe's surprise, she kisses him back._

_Their lips move tenderly together for several minutes. He is too vulnerable in the aftermath of the nightmare to risk another rejection from her, so he doesn't push it any further. She gently pulls her lips away. "Go to sleep," Charlie whispers. Instead of rolling over like she normally does, she drapes her arm over him. This is rare. Most nights end with him waiting for her to fall asleep before pulling her into his arms. _

_She never complains when she finds herself in his arms in the mornings. In fact, she usually looks happy in those first few minutes before they get up to start their days. But she always pretends it hasn't happened once she leaves their bed._

_It has gotten to the point where he's started to give up entirely. There is only so much rejection a guy can take, after all. It's only when he makes this known that she usually seeks his embrace the way she does now. He always seems to find a way to do something stupid to screw it up: mention the change in her behavior towards him, kiss her one time to many. This usually sends her back to square one again. The cycle of drawing him in and then pushing him away is maddening. But he's been patient with her. He knows his past is making it difficult for her to allow something more meaningful to develop, and he has just enough self-loathing not to resent her for it._

_Because of this, he knows he's taking another risk. She'll make him pay for it later, he's sure. But, the images from the dream are compelling him to say it. "I love you," he whispers to her. She doesn't respond in kind. He knows better than to expect that. But, instead of her normal punishment of shutting him out, this time she gently kisses his shoulder and squeezes his hand gently as she closes her eyes._

_Her breathing evens out a few minutes later, indicating that she has fallen asleep. He watches her for a few minutes. This time the dream has disturbed him more than it ever has in the past (and the last time he's had it, it sent him after a rebel's children). This time the first name on the headstone was different. It had always said "Miles Matheson" when he'd had the dream in the past. Tonight, it has said something different. Tonight the extra tombstone said "Charlotte Matheson." It is a long time before sleep finds him again._

Monroe tried very hard to keep his gaze on the road before him, rather than look at the woman sitting next to him. That dream had been only a week ago, and it bothered him still. For some inexplicable reason, he couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen. He wondered if Charlie felt it too. She'd been especially quiet over the past hour or two.

They were on their way back from town. The winter wheat would be ready for harvest any day now, so they had decided to get one last trip into town done before they were overwhelmed with work for the next several weeks. After the wheat, the barley would be ready to come in as well. In short, life was about to get hectic for them.

Charlie had elected to come along. The kids would need new clothes soon and there were a few other things that she'd said she'd wanted to pick up while in town. Priscilla had come with her to help with the twins while he took care of his business in town as well.

The presence of the "Andrews Family" in town no longer raised any eyebrows. In the past several months, they'd gotten to know their neighbors better. Monroe had gone out of his way to help any of the neighboring farms when he could. Daniel had once said to him, "Those that lends a hand last." And he had been right. If they were going to stay in the area indefinitely, they would have to form their own ties to the community. They couldn't just rely on the respect Daniel commanded to get by.

Seeing Monroe as a family man had also gone far to dissipate any suspicions of his real identity. No one would ever be able to associate Sebastian Monroe with a wife and kids. He'd been demonized too much over the years for anyone to believe he was capable of such a human thing as family. For the most part, they were now on good terms with most of the people in town. Even the original little "vigilante squad" he'd met his first day in town seemed to have lost their distrust of him. This was partially due to the fact that one of them, Avery Carter, was one of their closest neighbors.

They were just passing Avery's farm when they were both brought out of their thoughts the sound of a scream, followed by a gunshot nearby. Charlie and Monroe both looked at each other in confusion. When they reached the cutoff that led to Avery's farm, Monroe slowed the horses. "Dammit," he said under his breath as he guided the wagon down Avery's drive and flicked the reins to bring the horses to a trot. He had a bad feeling.

They were met with chaos as the wagon came to a stop in the main yard. Avery and one of his farm hands were checking their hunting rifles while an older woman tried to prevent Avery's wife, Jenny from breaking out into hysterics.

Charlie gave Monroe a meaningful look, clearly indicating that she didn't want to get involved. They were supposed to be lying low. Monroe ignored her and jumped off the wagon. "What happened?" he asked as he approached.

Avery finished loading the weapon and snapped the barrel in place. "Sons of bitches took my girl Sarah." Charlie had since joined them. Monroe locked eyes with her for a second. She didn't like what she saw there. Sarah Carter was Avery's youngest daughter.

Monroe watched as three more farmhands approached with rifles of their own. "How long ago? Do you know who they were?"

Avery inspected their weapons as he spoke. "Ten minutes, give or take. They were bandits, I guess – dressed funny. All leathers and the like. She was out in the orchard. They killed one of my guys and drug her off. Other man out in the field tried to fight 'em off but he was outnumbered."

Monroe considered this for a second. "They have tattoos? Like lines or stars or something?" One of the farmhands was holding a rag to his bleeding arm. He nodded at this question. "Sounds like a warclan, but I don't know what they'd be doing this far east. They had a few show up in Texas, but that was a lot closer."

Charlie started to look worried. "You think the Patriots sent them like they did in Willoughby?"

Monroe shrugged his shoulders. "Your guess is as good as mine. You'd think they'd be smart enough not to play the same card twice. Only one way to find out."

Avery gave them a strange look. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Monroe dodged the question. "Later. Hold on, I'm coming with you." He ushered Charlie back to the wagon. "Stay here," he said as he reached under the bench and pulled out the sword belt he kept hidden there.

"No way in hell. I'm coming with you," Charlie protested. She walked around to the back of the wagon where Priscilla sat with the twins. Reaching in, she dug out two pistols and a few clips. "If you're going to find them, you'll need me to help track them."

"And who's going to protect the kids if they double back? Priscilla? No, I need you to stay here and keep them safe." Monroe strapped the swords around his waist before taking one of the guns and a spare clip from her. "I'm not as good as you, but maybe I'm a bit better at tracking than I let on." He bent his head and kissed her quickly. "If we're not back nightfall, get the kids home."

Monroe walked back to Avery. "Which way did they go? How many were there?"

The farmer chose not to question him about the swords or the way that he seemed to be about to take control of this rescue mission. There would be time for that later. Right now, Sarah was what mattered, and they needed all the help they could get. "Half a dozen, maybe. They were headed towards the river," the injured farmhand said.

Half a dozen clansmen were nothing, but knowing clans the way he did, Monroe knew that there were probably twice that waiting for them. Monroe nodded. "Well come on then," he said as he headed in the direction the farmhand had indicated. The others followed, happy to let someone else take the lead.

They cut through one of the cornfields in an effort to cut the warclan off. Avery was impressed at the ease which Monroe ran through the field, jumping over obstacles with the grace and confidence of someone that was used to running into battle. They found the clansmen quickly enough, but Monroe had been right. There were a dozen men waiting for them. Normally, six to twelve odds were something Monroe could work with. But clansmen were no Patriots or Georgia soldiers. They were vicious and their hearts were in the kill.

Monroe insisted on waiting until dark before they hit the camp. They'd need to use the darkness as cover. He had the other men stand down while he scouted the camp out. The girl was tied to a tree close to the center of camp. _So much for a stealthy rescue,_ he thought to himself. There was no way to get close to her undetected. He crept back to the others. "We're going to have to go in hard. War clans are nasty. These men are good in a fight. Go for the kill."

Avery furrowed his brows, clearly worried. "What are you going to do?"

Monroe shrugged. "What I do best. Don't worry, Avery. We'll get her back." Monroe told them each where to stand. He had two of them circle back to take them on the other side. Once everyone had time to get into place, he took aim and shot the closest man to him, dropping the warrior immediately.

This was the signal the others were waiting for. They began to open fire from their vantage points as Monroe charged in, praying they were decent shots. Two more went down, cutting their number down to ten. This clan was obviously on the run. Only half of them have firearms, but Monroe does recognize a few of those as Patriot weapons. The rest were arms with an assortment of swords and knives.

Monroe drew one of his own blades, wielding one with his left hand as he continued to shoot with the right. He was trying to work his way directly towards the girl. He paused to take cover behind a large tree as several shots came at him. Firing back, he watched the shooter fall. When he looked back to where Sarah had been tied up, she was gone. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath as he turned to face his next opponent.

Avery and one of the farmhands had shot their way into the camp. Only six men remained. Monroe dodged as a sword came at him from his right. He fought the man off, sending his sword through his gut. He took his final shot, clipping another clansman in the side. When the man didn't go down, Avery finished him off before reloading his rifle once more.

Monroe tossed his now empty and useless weapon aside and drew his other sword. A bullet grazed his bicep, slicing through his shirt and causing enough damage to only piss him off. Another rifle blast rendered that shooter dead as well. As Monroe sliced the throat of another man, he saw one of the farmhands go down. There were only two enemies left. Avery took out one of them.

Monroe swept the last man's feet out from under him and then caught him in the neck with his blade. The edge of the sword caressed the skin under the man's jaw. "Hold you're fire!" He commanded as he stared his captive down. "Up on your knees," he quietly ordered the last clansman. "Hands up!"

Avery and the remaining farmhands came over. "She's not here."

Monroe cocked his head to the side as he regarded the captive. "Where's the girl? Where's the rest of your clan?" The man stared at him blankly, refusing to answer. Monroe's gaze flicked down, noticing a telltale mark on the clansman's wrist. Their prisoner saw this, as Monroe locked eyes on him again. The man's eyes widened in fear as a look of recognition came over his features.

Monroe smiled coldly at the guy now. The girl's safety was depending on him getting him to talk. He had to pull out all the stops, do whatever it took. "You know who I am?" He asked the former militia solder. The man nodded, clearly terrified. "Say it," he ordered, hoping to use that fear to his advantage.

"You're General Monroe," He stammered.

Monroe nodded slightly. "That's right. If you know who I am, then you know what I can do. Start talking. What clan are you from?" He tried to ignore the fact that just for a fleeting moment his captive's fear made him feel good, powerful.

Avery and his men gathered in interest. The farmer leaned in to one of the farmhands. "The second I saw him fight, I knew he was no farmer," he said in a low voice. Monroe was oblivious to this. For now it's just him and the captured clansman.

Monroe shifted the position of the sword and the end pricked the man's skin. A dot of blood formed under his chin. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed hard, clearly terrified of what is going to happen. "Why should I tell you anything? You're going to kill me either way."

Monroe didn't have time for this. He narrowed his eyes at him. "If you tell me, I'll kill you. If you don't, you'll just wish I had."

From his time back in the militia, the clansman knew that Monroe's reputation was for being quick to anger, dangerously violent and more than a little unstable. "We're what's left of the Baxter clan out of Nebraska."

"What are you doing in Kentucky? Who sent you?" Monroe pulled his sword back just enough so that it was no longer poking his skin.

The clansman shook his head. "Sent us? Nobody. The Patriots came and started slaughtering the clans. What was left of us barely escaped. The chased us east. We were headed to Missouri when they started chasing us south again, so we took the long way around. We're headed back north."

"Where's girl?" Monroe waited only a few moments for an answer. When the reply didn't come immediately he quickly sent his other sword in the direction of the man's genitals. "I said, where's the girl? What do you want with her?"

The others watched as the clansman paled. It was obvious that he was convinced that Monroe would actually cut him there. "We were cutting through when we saw her with poor protection. We figured she'd bring a good price in Missouri, that's all. When you attacked us, one of our guys took off with her to meet up with the rest of the clan."

"Where are they? How many?" A few minutes later, Monroe had everything he needed to know. He was confident that he'd been told the truth. The man was too afraid of what would happen to him if he lied – and he knew better than to hope Monroe was heading into a trap. Even if they were lying in wait, there was a good chance the former general would still come out on top.

Monroe looked around. "Someone needs to keep an eye on our friend here, everyone else come with me."

Avery knew that if the man was lying, they'd still need him. He was too important to risk him getting away. "I'll stay here. Jim, you know the river better than anyone. You know where this bastard was talkin' bout?"

The farmhand nodded. Monroe picked up a few scattered rifles from among the dead. These rifles would be better than the assorted shotguns and hunting rifles the farmhands carried. He tossed them to the others and gave them a brief rundown on how to use them. "Let's go," he said, letting Jim take the lead.

Avery sat there with his eye on their prisoner, not moving. His mind raced. What was he supposed to do with this new found information? Michael Andrews was a neighbor and in truth, a friend. And if it wasn't for him, there would be no hope in getting his daughter back.

An hour later, Monroe came crashing through the woods with the farmhands close behind him. In his arms was the limp form of Sarah Carter. "Is she...?" Avery couldn't get the rest of the words out.

Monroe nodded to one of the farmhands, who raised his rifle to the one lone clansman. Avery dropped his own gun and held his hands out to take his daughter's still form. "She's okay, Avery. Just fainted." Monroe's words were gentle and his movements careful as he transferred the girl to her father. He turned to the militia soldier turned clansman now.

"You did good," he said right before he drew his sword and ran the man through. Avery flinched when he saw this.

"Why did you kill him? He weren't no threat now," he said in disgusted wonder.

Monroe wiped his blade on the man's shirt before sheathing it. "What did you want me to do with him, Avery? We don't know if that's really the last of his clan or not. There could be more of them up north. If there is, he'd just have told them what happened here." With the red haze of battle gone, he had an overwhelming desire to get Avery to understand. "They'd have come back – but the next time they wouldn't just take your daughter. They'd kill your men and rape Jenny and Sarah while they made you watch. That's what they do."

Avery stared at him in indecision. He turned to one of his men and gave him the slightest of nods. Before Monroe could react, there were three guns trained on him. "Dammit, Avery what are you doing?" Monroe asked.

"I'm sorry Michael, I mean Monroe. But I need time to think about what to do with you now, and I can't let you get away." Avery was no closer to coming up with a solution to this new problem than he was before they'd returned with Sarah safe and sound.

Monroe looked around him. There was a good chance he could still get away. Armed or not, these were farmhands. They were decent shots when it came to hunting, which indeed aided them tonight, but they still were no soldiers. He thought better of it. Avery had become a friend. If he tried to escape, someone was probably going to get hurt. The last thing he wanted was for that someone to be Avery or his daughter. He sighed as he lowered the gun to the ground before taking off is sword belt and handing it over to Jim. "It's a long walk back, I guess we'd better get started," he said, suddenly very tired.

They walked for a good fifteen minutes with Monroe in the lead, hands up. Jim kept a rifle trained at his back. Avery walked a few paces back. "So what are you doing in Providence, Monroe?" Avery asked as they walked.

"Same thing as you Avery. I'm just trying to take care of my family and get by," Monroe said carefully. If he was getting out of this in one piece, he had to keep reminding his neighbor that he was a man just like him. A few minutes later Monroe called over his shoulder. "So you're really going to turn me in after I just saved your kid?"

"We're going to get back and straighten this mess out," Avery replied. Over the past several minutes, Avery had been thinking about how the man before him was the one that dropped the bombs. His brother had been killed when Atlanta was erased off the map, so he bore no love there. But then again, if Monroe had not been there today, he would never have seen his daughter again. Or worse – he would have been killed trying to rescue her, leaving Jenny to grieve them both. His conscience weighed heavily on him as he tried to make a decision as they drew closer to the house and to the moment where that decision would need to be made.


	4. Helps If You Read The DIrections First

**A/N: So this has already been up on A03 since yesterday. For some reason if I add more than one chapter within 24 hours, it will add the chapter, but will not send out a new Chapter notification, nor will it change the time it was last updated. I'm already starting to wonder if no one is actually bothering to read this, so I figured I'd just wait until 24hrs had passed so at least it would send out the notification (Is anyone still reading, Bueller? Bueller?)**

**More Notes (regarding actual chapter) at end!**

It was late when they finally emerged from the fields and into the main yard. Monroe cursed when he saw the wagon was still there. Obviously, Charlie had decided to assert her independence and not follow his instructions for her to get the kids home. There was only one light burning in the house, indicating the majority of its occupants had given up on waiting and gone to bed. Monroe was brought into the kitchen and tied up in one of the chairs at the table. Jenny Carter and Charlie had been seated, silently waiting for them to return.

Charlie jumped up when she saw Monroe was being held captive. She locked eyes with him. Monroe shook his head at her slightly. He could tell what she was thinking. He sent her a silent plea to do nothing. The last thing they needed was her trying to shoot their way out of there. He was simply going to have to talk his way out of this mess.

"Where are the kids?" He asked her. His disapproval at her having stayed was obvious.

"They're with Priscilla, asleep." She turned to Avery. "What do you think you're doing?"

Avery ignored her. He walked into the back of the house with Sarah hot on his heels. Jim remained in the kitchen for the time being, his gun still trained on Monroe. Avery came back a few minutes later, alone. He sat down at the table before he decided to answer her. "We're going to sit down and have a civilized chat while I decide what to do with the general here."

"Avery, I just saved her life. Do you have any idea what they would have done with her?" Monroe kept his voice low. There was no need to risk Jenny overhearing, or even worse Sarah waking up and overhearing too. "They would have taken her into Missouri and sold her to another clan or worse, to a brothel in St. Louis. If she wasn't dead in a year, she would have wished she was."

Avery indicated that Charlie should stop pacing the kitchen and sit down. Her restless movements were starting to make him nervous. As she sank into the chair she turned to Monroe. "Did you find out what they were doing here?"

"They were just drifters. Patriots flushed them out of the plains. It's going to happen a lot more if they keep trying to target the clans." He explained.

Avery listened with interest. "I still don't understand why they took my girl."

Monroe could not believe that Avery was really this naïve. "Because she was there and she didn't have enough protection. And because that's what warclans do. If they stumble across an opportunity, they take it. And a girl that young brings a really good price. They'd have been able to live off of the sale for a month."

Avery rubbed the back of his neck as he thought about what to do with him. "I appreciate what you done to help my girl, but I just can't let you go. Neighbor or not, Friend or not, you bombed Atlanta."

Monroe sighed in exasperation. He was getting really tired of that same old accusation. "I didn't bomb anything, Avery. Think about it. Launching ICBMs requires authorization codes, security clearance. Just because the government left the bombs behind doesn't mean that the programming changed. How would I get access to that?"

"People say you were military before the blackout. You coulda had access then," Avery argued.

Monroe rolled his eyes. "Really? I was a sergeant. I did a couple of tours in Iraq and got sent to Parris Island to train recruits after that. Kinda above my pay grade, don't you think?"

Avery thought about this. He had to admit that Monroe did have a good point. "Well, maybe you found the codes or something."

"You're giving me way too much credit. Launch codes to nukes aren't exactly something you'd leave lying around. Think about it for a second. The only people that could have launched those bombs were the ones that had access to them before the blackout." Monroe held his gaze steady on Avery while the man considered his words. He struggled to keep his breathing steady, confident. In reality his heart was pounding in his chest. If Avery was intent on turning him in, it would only be a matter of time before someone found out who Charlie was.

"Well, if you didn't do it, who did?" Avery finally asked. He was starting to fidget in his chair. It was a clear sign that he was starting to have doubts.

Monroe flicked his eyes to Charlie to gauge her reaction. He didn't know how much he should tell Avery. If the man sympathized with the Patriots telling the truth could only seal his fate. She only shrugged at him. _So much for her input_. "The Patriots are all former DOD. They'd have better access than I would."

His words hung there in the silence. Avery finally stood. "Miss, I think you'd better go on back to your room. It's late. Nobody's going anywhere in the dark." One of the farm hands led her back to the room she was to share with Priscilla and the twins. Once the door was closed, she heard the farmhand pull up a chair. It was clear that Avery intended to keep her locked up, just in case.

Monroe was led into the cellar to spend the night. As an extra precaution, he was tied up once more. Avery stood at the top of the stairs, looking almost apologetic. "It's just 'til I figure out what to do with you. I can't have you escaping in the meantime – I know what you're capable of."

As he watched Avery reach for the cellar door to lock him in, Monroe called out. "Avery, you've got to get rid of the bodies."

The farmer froze. He came down the stairs halfway. "What?"

"Get your men to burn the bodies. All of them. Burn any evidence that they were even here. People come across a dead warclan so close to your land, they'll start asking questions. It's attention you don't want. It doesn't matter what you do with me. If you care about your family, you'll do it," Monroe was insistent. Avery nodded in understanding and headed back up the stairs and shut the cellar door, locking Monroe in darkness for the night.

When the cellar door opened in the morning, Monroe was already awake. Actually, he hadn't really slept at all. He was stiff and sore from being bound for hours. Avery came down the stairs. If the circles under his eyes were of any indication, the rest of his night was about as sleepless as Monroe's had been.

This time, the farmer came down alone. He cut the ropes that bound Monroe and gestured for him to leave the cellar in front of him. After shooting him a wary look, Monroe complied. Reaching the open air, he looked to see Priscilla already in the back of the wagon holding one of the twins. "You're letting us go?"

"I guess it wouldn't do to turn on a man that saved my girl." Avery held out Monroe's sword belt and pistol. "We've been hearing stories about these Patriots lately, and not all of them are good. I don't know if they're as bad as you say they are, but I don't know if I trust them either. But what I do trust is a man that risked a hanging to help a neighbor and a friend." He held out his hand as a peace offering.

Monroe shook the offered hand. "Thank you." Charlie came out with Danny then. The freshly rinsed diaper in her hand suggested where they'd been. Her expression betrayed the mix of concern and anger she felt towards him at the moment.

He reached out and took his son from her long enough to climb up into the wagon. He took the fact that she'd chosen to ride in back with Priscilla as a bad sign. Handing the baby back, he walked to the front and climbed up. Jaw set, Monroe flicked the reins and got the horses moving towards home.

Charlie refused to speak to him for the rest of the day. To say that she was livid would be an understatement. Monroe had no idea how close he'd come to a second execution. Jenny had come to see her just before dawn. Avery had already told her he fully intended to send for the sheriff in the morning. He'd felt bad about it to be sure, but even if Monroe had been telling the truth about the bombs, everyone else sure believed it. If anyone found out that he had let Monroe go and concealed his knowledge of his presence, it could go very badly for his family – especially if the Patriots found out.

Jenny explained to Charlie how Monroe had almost been arrested when he'd come to town the first time and how Daniel Forrester had claimed him as his nephew. This had saved his life. Charlie had already heard an abbreviated version of this story already, but Monroe hadn't gone into detail. Avery had been one of the men helping Jacob Harris (Monroe's original accuser) restrain Monroe. Harris had apparently seen a sketch of Monroe on a wanted poster when he was on a trip to Franklin the previous year.

Julie damn well knew that Daniel didn't have a nephew. Her mother's people still lived in Somerset and she'd already heard about Ella's passing, but she hadn't wanted to be the one that led to a man's execution (even if that man was indeed Sebastian Monroe). She'd kept quiet out of respect for Daniel more than anything. "Daniel's good people. If it came out that he was harboring Monroe, he could have been arrested too," she'd explained.

Over time, the man going around as Michael Andrews seemed decent enough. And when he'd come back to town with his family, it cemented it for Jenny. "Kids have a way of changing a man. My Avery was as rotten as can be 'til our oldest, Maggie was born." And she could tell how much they'd helped Daniel on the farm. His place had always been successful, and Daniel was the type that could grow gold in a field of shit. His farm had kept her family from starving one winter when they'd lost their entire crop due to blight.

Charlie had told Jenny about the amnesia Monroe had suffered when he'd stayed with Daniel the previous fall and how he'd come for her when his memory had returned. "He's done a lot of bad things, Jenny. He'll probably fuck up again. But he's trying to be a better man, and he's a good father."

As far as Jenny was concerned, despite his dark past, Monroe had been a good neighbor. That meant something in their community. After the blackout, the communities that survived were the ones where people stuck together. Former dictator or not, Monroe had saved her daughter from a painful life and a violent ending. As a mother, that was not something she was willing to overlook as easily as her husband.

Besides, if Monroe was right about the possibility of more warclans coming east, there may be a time where they needed to defend their town. The man had raised an army from scratch and had held half the eastern seaboard for a decade. They couldn't ask for better help than that when and if the time came. Before Jenny left Charlie, she'd promised to do what she could to help them. Charlie still didn't know what Jenny had said to Avery, but whatever it was, it worked. He let Monroe go with a promise to keep his secret.

Now that they were safe, Charlie's temper boiled over. Had it not been for Jenny Carter, he would be rotting in a cell, waiting on his execution. And, if the Patriots had been involved, they could have come for her too. Who would have taken care of Danny and Angie then? It was even possible that the Patriots would have hurt them too. Babies or not, they were his blood. That may have been reason enough to hurt them. No, he shouldn't have gotten them involved. They were supposed to be hiding from the Patriots, not out slaughtering warclans and bringing attention to themselves.

Later that night she let him have it when he walked into their room to get ready to turn in. "Do you know the meaning of lying low?"

He sat down on the bed to take off is boots. "Do we have to do this now, Charlie? It's late and it's been a long couple of days." He was beyond exhausted and was not in the mood to have an argument.

Charlie leaned up against the wall opposite of where he sat, arms crossed over her chest. "Oh, we're doing this alright. Do you realize what could have happened?" She spat the question at him like a slap in the face.

He stopped what he was doing and looked up at her. "What I was I supposed to do, huh? You know what they'd have done to that girl. Christ, Charlie. She's just a kid."

"She wasn't much younger than those Patriot recruits you slaughtered last year; maybe only by a year or two." She knew she it was a low blow and regretted it the second it came out of her mouth.

Monroe felt like she'd just hit him in the gut. "It always comes back to shit like that, doesn't it? Well at least that explains a lot."

The bitterness in his voice took her by surprise. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He laughed at her cynically. "Come on, Charlie. Why are you really pissed? Not like you were worried that something was gonna happen to me."

It was Charlie's turn to flinch now. "How can you say that?"

His own temper blazing, Monroe raised his voice. "Because I'm not an idiot. You keep me around, for god knows what reason, leading me on. You only let me get close enough to keep me waiting. You don't want me, you won't let me go. You're using me, but I'll be damned if I can figure out what for."

Charlie lashed out again. She hated feeling backed into a corner and that was exactly what he was doing. "Yeah, well maybe I don't like repeating past mistakes!"

Her remark hurt him more than he would ever be willing to admit, so he gave as good as he got. "What, did your mom teach a course or something? Vindictive Bitch 101?"

Charlie didn't quite get the reference, but then again she never got the pre-blackout lingo he always used. But what she did get was the fact that she'd just been called a bitch and compared to her mother. "God, you are such a fucking asshole!"

He started lacing his boots back up. So much for bedtime. "And I swear, you are like a carbon copy of Rachel. Everything is about what someone else has done, but you can never admit that you're not perfect too." He grabbed a pillow off the bed and stomped towards the door.

Charlie whipped around. "Where the hell do you think you're going?" She yelled. She couldn't believe he was walking away from her – again.

Monroe paused with his hand on the doorknob. "I'm going to the sleep in the stables. The horses are a lot less judgmental and they don't bitch either!"

"Fine!" Charlie screamed as she sat on the bed with her back to him.

He whipped open the door. Brodie scooted out from the corner where he was hiding from their fight and ran out of the room ahead of Monroe. "Fine!" He shot back as he slammed the door behind him. He passed Aaron on his way down the hall. "Not one word," he snapped as he brushed passed him. Monroe paused by the pantry long enough to grab a bottle of Daniel's bourbon before heading out the back door and stalking across the yard and into the stable.

There was a cot that Daniel kept in the stock room just in case there was a mare getting ready to foal. He tossed the pillow down and flopped onto it. The evening was hot, so he wouldn't need to bother with ruining his excellent exit to retrieve a blanket. Breaking the wax seal on the bottle, Monroe took a long pull as he leaned back on the pillow.

He'd tried to do the right thing, and she'd crucified him for it. One second she attacked him for trying to be decent, but in the every next breath she'd basically called him a monster. Brodie had followed him into the barn. The dog jumped up on the cot and lay down next to Monroe, resting his head on his master's stomach. Sensing Monroe's world was crashing down, he let out a whine.

Monroe scratched the dog behind the ears absently. "What the hell does she want from me, boy? I'm doing the best I can." Brodie whined again as if in response. Monroe lay there, drinking his sorrows away for quite some time until the whiskey worked its magic and pulled him under.

As soon as the door slammed, Charlie felt her anger immediately dissipate. She had tried to hold onto it, really. She knew she'd drawn first blood in this fight and already felt bad for it. She'd hit below the belt more than once. She'd just been so pissed when he'd accused her of using him –and maybe in some ways she was; that was what made her angrier.

She hadn't expected everything between them to be laid out there in the open tonight. She'd been pissed at herself for being scared for him just as much as she was pissed at him for blowing his cover. She was well aware that he might die in battle at some point. Eventually the Patriots would come, and when that happened, he'd fight to protect Danny and Angie (and her). She could accept that. But the idea of having to watch his second execution was too much for her.

So, she'd just needed to vent at him for a few minutes. But then he had to go there and point out the giant elephant in the room. The fact that he was right only pissed her off more. She was holding him at arm's length and they both knew it. But how could she explain the reasons? She'd been able to let it go the one night outside of Austin because she'd been out of her mind in grief. But every time he'd tried to get close to her since then (physically or otherwise), her stupid noisy mind got the better of her. She always started out complacent – okay happy to participate even, but then she'd picture the raid on the Patriot training camp, or the image of her brother's lifeless body, and she couldn't help it. She'd clam up and push him away. She knew he loved her – that's why he'd put up with this from her for all these months. Little did he know that all of those nights he'd thought she was sleeping when really she'd lain awake, waiting for him to puller her to him so she could fall asleep.

She knew that he'd never walk away from Danny and Angie, no matter what happened between the two of them. But, as much as she wasn't ready to give in to temptation and form an actual relationship with him, she wasn't ready to let him go either. The thought of him moving on left her feeling sick.

She ignored the soft knock at her door and blew out the lantern. She knew it was probably either Aaron or her grandfather coming to check on her. The whole household had to have heard their screaming match. As she stared at the empty half of the bed, she wondered briefly how they'd managed to not wake up the kids. It was almost dawn before her eyes grew heavy and she finally slept.

**A/N: Sorry if their little argument (okay major argument) disappoints. And I admit I went a little over the top. But let's face it. Love makes people assholes and can make the best of us say really stupid things. And we all know that both halves of our favorite little ship have tempers... Oh, and in case you're wondering, if the future ideas for this story go according to plan, we will be seeing Avery again in the future. I picture him as a contemporary of Monroe who happened to grow up a little earlier in life...**


	5. Duct Tape Works When You Run Out Of Glue

**A/N: This is the first half of their attempt to make things right. The other half should be edited and up in the morning. * Warning – after the next chapter, our story will likely be updated to M Rating, so if you aren't a follower and don't normally reset that filter, you will have to do one or the other to find the story later. **

Monroe woke up in the morning to the sensation of having been drowned. Soaked, he jumped up from the cot. He looked around him, eyes bleary and his head spinning. "What the -?"

Daniel stood in front of him with a satisfied smile on his face, the bucket he'd just used still in his hand. "You gonna sleep all day, boy?" His gruff voice was full of mischief as he set the bucket down.

Monroe sat back down on the bunk and rubbed his eyes with one hand. As he tried to collect his thoughts, he glanced down at the bottle on the ground near the cot. There was only an inch or so remaining in the bottle. As he started at it, he idly wondered if he was just hung-over or still drunk. "What time is it?" he asked as he prepared himself for the inevitable pain of standing. His head was already pounding.

"Late enough. Come on. Time's a wastin'. Get yourself cleaned up and get some food in ya. Damn goat kicked the fence out again this morning." Daniel tapped his foot impatiently while he waited for his sorry excuse for a farmhand to get move.

Resigned, Monroe slowly stood. The motion made the world spin around him. He leaned against the wall with one hand while he waited for the sensation to stop. "I'm up," he grumbled as he started to shuffle towards the stable door.

As he walked across the yard to the house he saw Charlie on her way to the dairy. The familiar sight of one happy (not so little) pig was close behind her. He could tell the second she became aware of his presence because suddenly she held her head just a bit higher and her pace increased. "Probably broke the fucking fence herself, just so I had to chase Dickhead around," he mumbled to himself.

He heard Daniel laugh behind him, indicating that he'd said it louder than he'd meant. Shaking his head, Monroe made his way into the kitchen. Priscilla was still cleaning up after breakfast. "Hungry?" She said curtly when she saw him. He nodded in response, wincing as the motion only served to increase the pain at his temples.

He gingerly lowered himself into a chair, every moment reminding him that he was getting a little too old to down a bottle a night. Having no pity and offering no mercy, Priscilla slammed a plate of food down in front of him. He was mildly surprised she didn't break the plate. The smile on her face told him how much she enjoyed the pain that the sound caused him. She followed up with banging a coffee cup down as well. He sent her an icy glare as she filled it. All he got for his efforts was a kick in the shins. "Dumbass," she spat at him as he left the kitchen.

Tired and feeling like shit (and likely with a bruised shin), he shoved the plate to the side and concentrated on his coffee. It was no longer hot, but at this point he'd take what he could get. From the look on Priscilla's face, he should be so lucky that she hadn't poisoned it.

Thoughts of the previous night swirled around his aching head. Monroe couldn't fathom how things had gotten that far out of hand. In the ugly light of morning, he could see why she'd been so adamant about picking the fight in the first place: She'd been scared. And if there was one thing that Charlie didn't handle well, it was fear. She'd much rather be kicking an ass than be afraid. And it had just so happened, his ass and been right there for the kicking.

But he'd been scared too, dammit. Even if he hadn't played up who he was to get info from that clansman, Avery would have put two and two together eventually. It could have (and by all rights should have) gone seriously wrong. Monroe still felt that he'd had no choice and that Charlie was in the wrong for taking it out on him to begin with. But still, he knew he shouldn't have used the fight as an excuse to vent his own frustrations at her. Look where it had led.

Aaron came in the back door then. It was a rare morning when he was out and about before Monroe. At least he had the courtesy to stop the door before it slammed shut. "Got some stuff together to fix the fence. I figured you'd probably need some help this time," he said as he sat down at the table across form Monroe.

"Yeah, just give me a minute and we'll head out." Monroe pulled the plate back over and started to pick at the cold eggs and potatoes. His stomach was already on fire from the night of drinking. Cold eggs were not going to help, but he wasn't about to piss Priscilla off any more by making a mess in heating them back up. That smile she'd given him reminded him just a bit too much of non-Priscilla.

Aaron shifted in the chair, his discomfort quite clear. "So, uh..." He stopped to clear his throat. "You okay?"

"Don't wanna talk about it," Monroe said a little harshly in between bites. As bad as his mood was, he felt guilty for having just snapped at Aaron. He was only trying to help. "Listen, I appreciate the concern. Really. This is just something I've got to work out on my own, okay?"

"Shouldn't you be trying to work it out with Charlie?" Aaron countered.

_God I hate it when he says something smart._ Monroe picked up his coffee and downed it. "She's made her feelings on the matter very clear. If she hasn't changed her mind before now, she never will. I give up," he said as he stood.

As he left to get changed into dry clothes Monroe barely caught Aaron's response. "Don't be so sure about that." Monroe just shrugged him off. He had his pride, and he refused to swallow it. If she didn't want him, fine. He wasn't going to continue to chase after her like a lost puppy. He'd keep her safe and he'd be there for Danny and Angie – that was all. If it meant being miserable for a while, so be it.

He stopped to check on the twins before returning to collect Aaron and start their mission of subduing Dickhead. He found them already down for their morning nap. They must have woken up early to be down so soon. Not wanting to wake them, he just stood there for a few minutes and watched his children sleep. Deep down, he knew that for their sakes, he and Charlie had to come up with some sort of truce. They deserved better from their parents. If all that between them was hurtful memories and resentment, Danny and Angie would be better off if one of them simply left – and that was something that Monroe wasn't prepared to even think about.

Shaking himself out of his morose thoughts, Monroe backed out of the room quietly. If his eyes were a little damp, well he'd just blame it on the hangover. "Let's get going," he said to Aaron as he walked through the kitchen and out the door. He had a fence to repair and a goat to catch.

Charlie leaned against the entrance to the dairy as she watched Monroe and Aaron pick up some tools and a few boards. Even from a distance she could tell Monroe's mood was no lighter than hers. As he walked, his shoulders were a little slumped and the usual grace that defined his movements was currently missing. _Well, misery loves company_, she thought as she ducked back inside the dairy. The two men were about to walk right by, and the last thing she wanted was for Monroe to catch her watching him.

"So, are you going to talk to him?" Gene asked form where he sat. He'd be helping with the wheat tomorrow, so he'd told some of the neighbors that they could bring their kids in for checkups after lunch. The lone doctor in town was usually so busy with every ailment in the area that preventative checkups were few and far between. Gene had offered to help in this regard. Until then, he had little to do this morning, so had decided to help Charlie for a while – and by helping he'd thought he'd pry to see what on earth had happened.

Charlie started setting up the butter churn. Normally this was a task that she didn't mind, but she was not looking forward to it today. It required no attention whatsoever and offered too much time to think. The last place she wanted to be right now was in her own head. She'd spent far too much time there last night. "Nope," she finally said to Gene.

Gene started to milk the goat in front of him. "I hope you both know that you are being idiots." His tone was blunt and a little condescending, but someone had to say it. He knew that Daniel was on the same page. Although Monroe was twice Charlie's age Gene considered him to be emotionally retarded. Underneath the mask of the killer he was an absolute wreck. He understood, or at least he thought he did. The man had lost two families. Gene was pretty sure that deep down, the idea of having something real with Charlie absolutely terrified him, and so he'd been spending these past months unknowingly sabotaging his own cause.

Charlie, on the other hand was just like her mother and grandmother: stubborn to a fault. She had this preconceived notion on what should or shouldn't be in life and when it came to Monroe, there was no exception. In Gene's mind, if she wanted to keep it that way, she shouldn't have slept with the man to begin with. But she had, and she really did care about him. At this point all she was doing was helping Monroe to make them both miserable.

When Charlie didn't respond, Gene gave up. Finished with the goat, he sent the animal back to its pen before dumping the pail into the larger vat that Charlie would use later to make cheese. "I really hope you know what you're doing, Charlie. At some point in time, you have to let the dead bury the dead." He left her alone to think about it for a while.

As the weeks passed, Monroe was too busy with the wheat and then the barley to do much else. His life took on a dreary new pattern: wake up, work, drink, pass out. He avoided Charlie as much as possible, especially after the third day post-fight when he'd gone into the stable to find she'd dumped all of his clothes on the cot.

He still had to see her at meals. Daniel had made it very clear that if he didn't at least show up for chow (and make a visible effort to eat something) that he'd dump every barrel of bourbon on the property. And the way the old man had said it, Monroe believed he'd do it too. Cleary Daniel was worried about him. Hell, if he wasn't so damn miserable, he'd be worried about the direction his life was headed too.

Of course Charlie did not restrict his access to Angie and Danny. No matter what was going on between the two of them, that was one low both of them knew she'd never stoop to. And even though it hurt and angered Monroe to be around her, they still did their same bedtime routine with the kids. That was something he couldn't bear to give up. Before this mess, one of his favorite times of the day was the hour or so after dinner where they'd sprawl out on the floor as one happy little family. They'd been taking turns doing this since their fight. But it wasn't the same when she wasn't there with him. Quite simply put, Monroe really missed her.

Charlie was faring no better. She'd been hoping that he'd get tired of sleeping in the stable after a day or two and come back. After the third day, she'd been annoyed that he'd still been insistent on staying away, so she'd dumped his shit in there, just to prove that she didn't care. That she'd hidden in the dairy and cried for an hour after doing it was not something he needed to know.

The longer he was gone, the more Charlie missed him just being there. Even though it was turning in to a hot summer, her bed felt cold without Monroe there beside her. She'd lay in bed for countless hours trying to figure out exactly why she felt the need to push him away so much.

As the weeks passed, she thought she was slowly going out of her mind. She found herself thinking about Monroe more often than not, especially after waking in the middle of the night once having dreamt about their one night together. More than once she'd berated herself for being so damn stubborn. Here she was lonely (and a bit horny besides) in her bed and there was a perfectly good man that loved her and wanted her sleeping in the stables; and despite all the complications between them, Charlie finally admitted to herself that she loved him too.

She would find herself almost ready to cave, but then pride and fear would get the better of her and she'd talk herself out of it. She'd start to rationalize things way too much: If he wanted her so much then he should have fought harder to keep her; but then again, he'd been fighting for a while now. Angie and Danny were eight months old. He'd faced one rejection after another since they'd been born and had never left until the night they'd fought.

The two little people that had brought them together in the first place ended up being the ones that forced them back together again. One morning, as Monroe was heading in for breakfast before getting to work, Gene met him in the yard. "Kids are sick," Gene said as he approached.

Monroe stopped dead in his tracks. "What? Both of them? What's wrong?" He felt his heart leap to his throat.

Gene instantly went into doctor mode. "It'll be a few more days before I can confirm it, but if I had to guess? Measles."

Even after seventeen years of no power, it was still so strange for Monroe to hear about diseases that were all but eradicated by vaccines when he was growing up. "So, what are we looking at here? Are they going to be okay?"

Gene really felt for the guy. He could almost feel the terror radiating off of Monroe. He placed a hand on Monroe's shoulder and nudged him back into motion. "Barring any complications, they'll probably be just fine."

"And you're sure it's measles?" He asked as they walked, still trying to wrap his head around it.

Gene stopped at the top of the back porch stairs. "One of the girls that helps Charlie in the dairy came down with it a week or so ago. I believe you know her, Ally Bradshaw?"

"Yeah, her family rents a plot from Avery, right?" He could only imagine what the girl's parents were going through. From what he'd heard, they lost their oldest to influenza a few years back. She was their only surviving child. "She okay?"

Gene reached for the screen door. "She's recovering. Complications can be dangerous, but severe ones are rare. Maybe one percent, give or take." When they entered the kitchen, Priscilla was the only one in there. "We might have a problem though."

Monroe stopped with his hand on the back of the chair he'd been about to pull out. "I hate it when you say that. What kind of problem?"

Gene sat down at the table. Priscilla offered both men cups of coffee and went back to frying slices of ham. "Severe complications are rare in children. Not adults."

"Okay, but all of us were born before the blackout. We've all been vaccinated," Monroe argued.

Gene set down his coffee and leaned forward on the table. "Daniel and I are old enough to have been exposed. You, Aaron and Priscilla have had the vaccines. But I'm not so sure about Charlie."

Monroe almost dropped his coffee in his lap. "What?" He could almost feel the blood draining from his face.

"She was five when the power went out. The window for the last booster is four to six years. I don't know if she got the last one. Only Rachel would know that, and she's not here to ask," Gene explained. "We have to assume that she didn't; just to be safe. Which, by the way there's a small chance that anyone that didn't get a booster as an adult could still catch it."

Monroe caught what he was saying. "Well, I'm good at least. They shoot you full of everything when you get to boot camp and again before your first deployment."

Gene looked relieved. "Good. We just need to be extra careful. Charlie needs to stay clear of them when she isn't nursing. I've got her wearing a mask around them right now. But you're going to have to take over otherwise. Priscilla will help, of course but with both of them sick, she can't do it alone."

"I wouldn't expect her too," Monroe said thoughtfully.

Daniel came into the room now. "Well, Avery is sending over a few hands to help out with the rest of the harvest so you can stick close to the house and take care of those babies." He looked tired and worried. It was obvious how much he'd come to care for Danny and Angie.

The next week was absolute hell. The twins didn't develop any complications, but they didn't want to eat and were up all night crying. Charlie was miserable having to isolate herself from them between feedings when all she wanted to do was hold and comfort her children. Gene had fashioned a mask out of canvas for her to wear anytime she was near them, but she hated having to wear it. For one, it seemed to scare them which made feedings even more difficult – as if they weren't hard enough with them being so sick.

Monroe dutifully stayed in the house and took care of them. He knew Priscilla was willing to help, but it didn't seem right. Sick kids needed their parents. And if Charlie couldn't help, well he'd have to just do it by himself. As their illness ran its course, he felt himself slowly running down. After all, he hadn't been getting any sleep before this.

Because of the problems between Monroe and Charlie and his reluctance to expose her any more than she would be by feeding Danny and Angie, Monroe had been sleeping on the couch when the twins would let him. Charlie was lying awake in bed, waiting for the sound of him going down the hall – the telltale sign that he'd finally gotten them down. Just because she couldn't be in there helping him didn't mean that she wasn't in this too. Until her babies were asleep, she couldn't either.

It was late and all was quiet, however. Curious, she donned her facemask and tiptoed over to the nursery. She opened the door slowly and peeked inside. He was sitting in the old rocking chair, a baby in each arm. All three of them were fast asleep. She could see the dark circles under his eyes, indicating just how tired he was. Consequences be damned, she went over and lifted Danny from Monroe's arms. His fever appeared to have broken and his rash was fading. She gently put her son to into his crib before moving on to her daughter. Angie still felt warm, but her fever was nowhere near as high as it had been the last time she'd fed her.

Monroe was so tired, he hadn't even stirred. She'd always considered him good looking, but as she watched him sleep, it struck her how handsome he really was. She stood there for several more minutes before she finally made a decision. Smiling to herself, Charlie padded down the hall and out the back door. When she returned a short while later, she went back to bed, falling asleep faster than she had in weeks.


	6. Why Are There Always Leftover Parts?

The next morning, Gene announced that Danny and Angie were well on the mend and most likely no longer contagious. Danny's rash was mostly gone with Angie recovering a little slower. It would still be a few more days before they were sure Charlie was in the clear, but she didn't have to avoid them any longer. Monroe woke up well after everyone else. When he emerged from the nursery, Charlie informed him of the good news. He was relieved that the kids were over the worst of it – that went without saying, but a part of him was also a little said. He no longer had an excuse to stay in the house.

Feeling a little low (and guilty because of it), he headed out to the stable to get changed before heading back to work. When he entered the structure, Daniel was already in there tending the horses. "Gonna keep sleepin' in, I'm gonna have to replace you," he quipped as Monroe walked to the back of the building to the stall that housed his lonely "bedroom".

"Whatever, old man," Monroe grumbled as he walked by. He looked around. The cot was still there, but his things were gone. "What the hell?"

Daniel suddenly appeared behind him. "We can do without you for a day or two. Go spend some time with your family, you idiot." His voice was filled with humor. "You look like you could use some more sleep, at any rate."

Monroe went back into the house to find Charlie dozing off with the twins beside her in the bed. She roused when he entered the room. "Someone stole my stuff," he said wryly as he kicked off his boots and stretched out on the bed.

"Bunch of savage little thieves around here," she said with a sleepy smile.

He chuckled softly, "I'll bet."

That night when he came into the bedroom, he was a bundle of nerves. That she'd put his clothes back in the bedroom suggested he was welcome, but he still wasn't entirely sure of himself. She stepped behind him to close the door and took off the old ratty robe she normally wore in the morning. He wasn't sure where she got the garment she wore beneath it, but he swore to god it was invented to torture men everywhere.

She was leaning against the door, watching him. "Charlie, I-"

She reached for him then. "Shut up," she whispered as she grabbed him by the waistband of his jeans and pulled him to her. She stood on her toes so she could press her lips to his. Instinctively he wrapped his arms around her and took over from there. Not wasting any time, he delved his tongue into her mouth, taking them both deeper into the kiss.

Her back was pressed into the door behind her. Charlie wrapped her leg around his waist, not able to get herself close enough. He ran a hand under her thigh and lifted her further, letting out a satisfied growl when he realized she was wearing nothing underneath the short negligee. He broke away from her and stared into her eyes just a second for an explanation, permission, something. The desire in her eyes was answer enough. He captured her mouth again, kissing her like she was an oasis and he'd just spent an eternity wandering the desert looking for her. He slid his lips down, trailing hot kissed down her neck. She tangled her fingers in his hair, her breath already becoming heavy in her chest.

Monroe ran his hand along the hem of her flimsy excuse for a nightgown, inching it up slowly to reveal her body. Suddenly, a knock came at the door. "Yeah?" he barked, more than a little annoyed at the intrusion.

"Uh, Charlie?" Aaron's voice drifted in from the other side of the door.

Monroe turned his attention back to the hem of her nightgown. "Wait," she panted into his neck. Her hand flew to his and she tried to still it.

"Just ignore him. Maybe he'll just go away," Monroe whined as his mouth hovered at the swell of her breasts. He began to kiss her there along the lace just as Aaron knocked again. "Dammit," he moaned. He'd been waiting for her all this time and here was Aaron doing his best to ruin everything. "Go away, we don't want any," he snapped.

Aaron's voice drifted through the wood. "Yeah, you guys really need to come out here."

Monroe stilled. He reluctantly released his grip on her butt and Charlie lowered her foot to the floor. One hand braced against the door, he silently tried to convince the lower part of his body to behave itself.

Charlie was fighting for her own composure. "What, Aaron?" she asked.

"Um yeah. We've got visitors." They could hear his feet retreating.

Monroe flopped down on the bed and swiped a hand over his face in frustration. "I thing I'm back to hating him," he complained.

Charlie walked across the room to pick up the robe from where she'd tossed it. She hadn't even had time to put it on when they heard a slight commotion outside their door. "I wouldn't go in there yet –" Aaron pleaded. Suddenly the door opened and Miles appeared with Rachel right behind him.

"Fuck," Monroe said as he lifted himself up on his elbows. "Miles, Rachel," he added in greeting before laying back down and covering his eyes with an arm, casually. _Maybe if I just close my eyes, they'll go away for an hour,_ he thought to himself.

Miles took in the sight in front of him. Charlie was standing there holding a robe and wearing something he'd rather not see her in. Her face was flush, but it could have been just from embarrassment. _Oh, please let it just be from embarrassment,_ he inwardly groaned. Lying on the bed with his legs dangling over the side, looking very frustrated was his former best friend turned dictator turned quasi-best friend with a rapidly deflating erection. "You son of a bitch," Miles ground out as he took a step forward, fully intent of rearranging Monroe's face and damaging important body parts. Before he could reach his target a loud wail from the next room stopped him in his tracks.

He watched in utter confusion as Monroe held up a fist, still refusing to uncover his eyes. Charlie did the same. "One, two, three," Monroe said as he shook his fist up and down before throwing out his hand flat. Miles raised an eyebrow at them as he watched Monroe deftly lose two rounds of Rock, Paper, Scissors in a row. He swore it looked like the man was losing on purpose. Monroe gracefully jumped up and left the room, making sure to shoulder- check Miles on the way out.

"Charlie, how could you? With him of all people?" The disgust in her mother's voice was evident. "I get it he's been helping you play house and all but sleeping with him?"

Miles leaned up against the wall, arms crossed in loosely concealed rage. "I'm really going to kill him," he said under his breath.

Another wail could be heard down the hall. "Oh for god's sake. I don't know why you'd ever trust him to take care of a baby in the first place." Before Charlie could stop her, Rachel stomped out of the room, determined to save her distraught grandchild from what she knew had to be Monroe's incompetence.

She found the right room and stopped dead in her tracks. There he was in the old rocking chair, holding not one but two babies. He rocked them gently, humming some random tune lowly. He looked up, meeting her eyes for a second before turning his attention back to his little charges. She approached him quietly. He gestured towards which one she should take from him. He had already changed Danny and had him almost back to sleep when Angie started to cry, so he'd simply picked her up to wait for Charlie. He stood up and quickly went to change her before settling back down on the chair.

Rachel went back and forth between looking at the child in her arms and watching the killer that had just changed a cloth diaper like a pro. She was beyond stunned and couldn't quite believe what she was seeing.

The little bundle in his arms was still squirming. "Come on Angie, I know you still don't feel good, but you're killing me here," Monroe said gently. He turned to look at the space between both cribs. "Brodie," he whispered loudly. Rachel watched as the Border collie came out of the shadows and stood in front of his master, raising a paw to put on his knee. "Go get Charlie."

Brodie trotted out the door and down the hall. The quiet yip indicated to Rachel that the dog had actually obeyed. She stood there holding her grandson, still dumbfounded as the dog came back into the room and circled the floor before picking a spot next to the rocking chair. Monroe carefully nudged his tail out of the way like he'd done it a thousand times before he resumed rocking the crabby baby.

Rachel barely had time to process the scene before her when Charlie came padding into the room. Not to be left out, Miles came in soon after. Monroe stood to and handled his bundle to Charlie, who settled into the chair. Charlie hesitated for just a second. Sensing her discomfort, Monroe held a blanket up in front of her until she had the baby situated on her breast before he gently laid the blanket over them so she could nurse without flashing her uncle.

Trying her best to distract Miles, Rachel handed Danny to him. "Isn't he beautiful?" She said as she smiled down at her grandchild. The rash from the measles had already faded from his face, leaving no evidence of the recent illness. Miles looked down at the baby, who had just woken up; as if he decided Angie getting fed just wasn't fair.

"Monkey see, monkey do," Monroe said with a chuckle.

Charlie groaned. "I wonder how long they're going to do this before they start sleeping through the night again." The way she said it caught Rachel's attention. "They're just getting over the measles," she added in explanation.

This was getting way to domestic for Miles and he felt himself starting to freak out again. "I'm still going to tear you apart, Bass," he said quietly.

Monroe just glared at him. "Show some respect, dick. At least put my kid down before you threaten me."

Rachel reached out to grab the baby before Miles dropped him. Monroe's words left him feeling like someone had just punched him in the gut. "Your – your kid?" Miles barely choked the words out.

"Well technically they're both mine. Kind of a package deal." Monroe ignored the look Charlie shot him. Clearly she thought he wasn't helping.

"Mom, Miles, meet Angela Grace and Daniel Ross… Monroe," she said quietly. She made sure she had both of their attentions before revealing the twins' surname.

Before anyone could react, Miles whipped out a gun and pointed it directly at Monroe. "Oh Bass, we need to have a little chat." He nodded towards the door. "Let's take a walk, _brother_." The way Miles emphasized that last word was more than a little menacing.

Monroe rolled his eyes. Sighing, he bent to kiss Charlie lightly a before leaving the room with Miles right behind him. As they walked through the living room to the front door, Gene and Daniel both looked a little startled to see Miles leading Monroe out of the house at gunpoint. He merely shrugged as he walked by them. Brodie had decided to come to, sensing trouble.

"For fuck's sake Miles, put that damn thing away," Monroe snapped as soon as they were outside. Miles holstered the weapon and immediately took a swing at him. Of course, Monroe had been expecting this and merely ducked to avoid the blow. Without warning, the dog got in between them and started to snarl and jump at Miles. "Down, Brodie," Monroe ordered the dog, but he seemed less than willing to obey.

Distracted, Monroe dodged too late and the next swing hit him squarely in the jaw. "Dammit Miles, will you calm down?" Monroe shouted. The dog again snarled and snapped. Monroe grabbed his rope collar before he could lunge at Miles. "Brodie! Down!" he yelled again.

Miles just stood there watching Monroe try to control Brodie. The animal it seemed had lost its mind. "Dude, what's with the dog?" Miles asked.

"Really? You too?" Monroe decided he'd really had it with people commenting on his having a dog. "If a man wants to have a fucking dog, why the hell does everyone have to question it? Your niece has a pet pig. Which, I might add is just weird, but everyone's just fine and dandy with it. I have a dog and everyone looks at me like I've grown two heads."

Miles gave him a weird look and nodded slowly. "Bass, you're babbling."

"I'm just saying. It's getting old."

"Well okay then," Miles said with a roll of his eyes. "And don't change the subject. You and Charlie? What the hell is the matter with you?"

Convinced that at least for the time being Mile was done, Monroe sat down on the bottom porch step. "It was after Austin when we all got separated. It was just that one time. She was a mess after Jason, and it just sort of happened."

"Wrong answer Bass. She was grieving, so you took advantage of her?" Miles ground out.

Frustrated, he rubbed his now sore jaw. "It wasn't like that."

Miles didn't look very convinced. "Bullshit. I know you and how you operate."

"Give me some credit. Sure, I wanted her for a long time before then, but I'd kept my hands off – out of respect to you and Rachel, I might add." Monroe gave him a meaningful look. "She was just trying to cope, and I caved. But I never came on to her, even that night."

"Yeah, I'm sure you tried really hard to resist," Miles snapped.

Monroe jumped up and stood toe to toe with him. "You know what? Fuck you Miles. I cared about her – enough to let her push me away afterwards even though it hurt; enough to storm into Willoughby like a moron and almost get myself killed trying to get her out. How many guys died that night? All because I cared too much to watch her get hurt when her own mother walked her into a trap." Before he did something stupid, Monroe abruptly turned and stormed into the house.

Miles sat down on the porch, overwhelmed by what had just happened there. He'd never thought about Monroe's motivations for saving their asses that night. He'd always just kind of assumed that it was because of the friendship they'd once shared – residuals from a brotherhood gone bad. That he'd almost died to protect Charlie took the fight out of him. He'd watched Monroe go through so much suffering because of it. "Damn," he said in amazement as he finally headed back inside.

Miles flopped down on the couch in the living room. Gene had already disappeared. The old man that apparently owned the place sat in his easy chair with a glass of whiskey in his hand. He gestured towards the bottle that sat on the end table. "Well, help yourself. You look like a man that could use a stiff drink."

Miles didn't have to be told twice. He poured a good sized shot into an empty glass. He took a sip, his eyes widening at the flavor. "Where did you get this?"

Daniel chuckled. "Northerners. I'm amazed you people lasted this long after the blackout. Make it right here on the farm. You're in Kentucky now, son. Just 'cause the lights went out don't mean we forgot how to make a good small batch."

Miles raised his glass in salute. "To Kentucky then. I might like it here after all."

"I'll drink to that," Daniel said as he took a drink out of his own glass. "So Sebastian has brought me more strays. Well, we can always use another set of hands, even if it's just temporary."

"How did he end up here?" Miles asked as he helped himself to another drink.

"Was passin' through town and a couple of locals called him out for who he was. I could tell just by lookin' at him something weren't right, so I gave him a place to work and a new name. Not many folk in town are willing to call me a liar, so he stayed on 'til he got his past back," Daniel explained.

Miles watched Daniel carefully as he told the story. He could see why Bass had thought to bring Charlie and the kids here. He might be crusty old drunk, but the guy's eyes betrayed how smart and kind he really was. "Sorry, I just can't picture Bass as a farmer."

Daniel leaned forward in his chair. "He took to it alright. And he would have stayed on even after he got his memories back if it weren't for the girl. He left for her; and he came back for her too. And I can't say I wasn't happy to see him back."

Miles still couldn't understand. "If you knew who he was from the start, why did you help him at all? Most people would have either turned him in for the reward or just shot him."

Daniel reached for the bottle. "He asked me the same question, so I'll give you the same answer I told him: Everyone deserves a second chance at life. You got one didn't you? Miles Matheson, the Butcher of Baltimore," he saw the look of shock on Miles' face. "Yeah, I know who you are too."

Miles was just speechless. Yep, the geezer was definitely smarter than he looked. "Well, I'll be damned…"

Daniel looked at Miles severely, almost as if he was angry at him. "In my experience, a man needs to forgive himself before he can move on. And to do that he needs forgiveness from those closest to him. You have your family for that: Your niece, her pretty momma. They love you and forgive you, so you got to start all over again. He didn't have anyone else willing to do it. A man can't change if no one will let him. You all didn't, so I did."

Miles caught himself squirming a little under Daniel's gaze. He felt like he was a kid that had just been sent to the principal's office or something. He had never thought about it that way. Monroe had first shown up in Willoughby saying he wanted to help, and all Miles and Rachel had done at every turn was attack him. In hindsight, the more they reminded him of what a violent bastard he was, the more of a violent bastard he become – until the night all hell broke loose.

Monroe poked his head in the room, disrupting their little heart to heart. He saw that Miles now had whiskey, which meant that he'd be a little mellower now. He was too tired to get into a fist fight now. Gene had graciously offered up his room for Miles and Rachel, until they could think of some place for them to sleep permanently. The twins were now fed and settled as well. He sat down on the loveseat across from Miles. There was one more thing they needed to talk about. He poured a drink and downed it before he spoke, dreading the answer. "Miles, where's Connor?"

Miles didn't answer right away. He didn't need to. The look on his face said it all. "How?"

"We were on our way here from Louisiana and we got caught by surprise by a Patriot regiment. The day before we'd met up with a couple undercover Rangers. We were supposed to pass on some orders to another underground group on our way through Tennessee. Connor took off one way and we took off the other." The grief on his friend's face was overwhelming.

Monroe fought back tears. "You just left him there?"

"We didn't have a choice, Bass. If the Patriots got the dispatches, they'd know the name and location of every Texan between here and DC. Texas is really fighting to win this war now. We need them in place. We tried to go back for him, but the only trace we found was this." Miles dug into his pocket and produced an old picture. It was of Emma holding a baby, presumably Connor. "I'm sorry, Bass."

Monroe stood up wordlessly and went outside. He walked around the house and headed to the stable to grieve in solitude. Charlie came looking for him a while later. Miles had told her about Connor. She sat down on the cot next to him, unsure of what to do. She just wrapped her arms around him while he cried. "I never got the chance to make things right with him," he said bitterly. Charlie didn't know what to say, so she just held him tighter. After a long while, she drew him away to their bed. He clung to her like she was a lifeline and eventually fell asleep.

**A/N: ****Before anyone yells at me for not warning about MCD, please note that Miles and Rachel didn't actually see Connor die... It may be a few days before I get the next chapter of this up. I've got the next part of the plot figured out, but this will require another transition chapter and I'm not sure how I want to go about it yet. (There is a full smut scene written, but it's not long enough to stand alone as a chapter yet.) I'll do my best to get it up sooner rather than later, but we'll see.**


	7. Problems? Contact Customer Service 247

**A/N: I've upgraded this to Mature because there is finally some smut (hopefully I haven't lost anyone along the way because of filters or those that find smut in poor taste. Also, warnings in advance, I've decided that juvenile antics were in order to lighten up the mood of this chapter a little. More notes at the end!**

_Miles, Rachel and Connor see the shell of the building in front of them. Even from a distance, something hadn't looked right. Now that they are closer, they can see where fire has almost completely destroyed the structure. It was here that they left Charlie late last summer. With faces drawn, they guide their horses closer to the house and dismount. _

_The burnt home still carries the faint aroma of the fire that has ruined it. They look around. There are no signs of recent activity here. This must have happened months ago. Miles nods at Connor. Monroe's son draws his gun just in case and goes to check the other side of the house for some clue as to what has happened here. _

_Miles and Rachel carefully pick their way up to the porch and into what is left of the house. The charred remains of a body are in the front entry way. "Miles?" Rachel gasps as he eyes start brimming with tears. Miles can hear the panic rising in her voice. That one word from her mouth is enough to have him worried about a second meltdown._

_His lips form a grim line as he steps over the body and further into the house. Thankfully, there is no basement. At least he's not in danger of crashing through the floor. A second body lies at the foot of the stairs. He moves to poke his head into the living room off to his left. The ceiling has collapsed, leaving burnt relics from the floor above him strewn about. He doesn't risk going all of the way into the room. He sees a partial charred corpse poking out of the rubble._

_As he makes his way to the kitchen, he starts to feel the bile rise in his throat. A fourth body is in front of the stove. It too is burned beyond any recognition, just like the others. He decides he's seen enough. It is too dangerous to venture up the stairs. Even if they can carry his weight, the rest of the second story could collapse at any time. He quickly makes his way out to the front porch where Rachel waits for him. _

_Rachel stares into the front yard, dazed. "How many?" she asks, her voice quiet and distant._

_He leads her off the porch and into the warm drizzle that has started to fall, as if the sky can sense their grief. "We don't know it's them," Miles chokes out. _

_Rachel comes to life now. She snaps out of her detachment and turns to face him. "I said, how many?" The question comes out more as a demand. _

_Miles lowers his eyes to the ground. "Four," he whispers, his own eyes start tearing up now. Later he will blame it on the soot._

_Connor comes around the front of the house now. He can see their anguish and feels is heart sink. He was pissed when he'd left Charlie here to join the fighting back west. He and Charlie hadn't had what any could call a relationship, but he supposed he'd liked her well enough. More than anything he had been angry over the fact that he'd been tossed aside for someone that she hated. It was quite a blow to the ego (even though their fling had ended long before, it was the principal of the thing). After all, it had been his father she'd slept with. _

_Even so, she'd also been carrying his brother or sister. With his dad in the wind and no memory of him at all, that baby was really his only remaining family. He'd since come to terms with that and had even accepted it. He'd even been looking forward to meeting his new sibling. But now, if what they saw here was any indication, that would never come to be._

"_Did you find anything?" Miles voice betrays how little hope he has now. _

_Connor shakes his head. "Just a grave, but it isn't one of theirs. Maybe someone from town? I don't recognize the name."_

_Miles looks up at him, confused. "Show me."_

_Two hours later, Miles and Connor are still digging. Miles immediately knew something wasn't right with this grave. His mother's maiden name was carved into the piece of plywood that served as the marker. There were only a handful of people left alive that remembered her name, at least few that would be this far away from Jasper. Still, he refused to let any hope grow within him. _

"_I think I've got something," Connor mutters._

_Miles starts to dig next to him. They hit a piece of plywood. At first he thinks that it's a coffin, but no, it's too large and it's not attached to anything. They uncover it completely and climb out of the whole. Miles reaches down with the shovel and uses it to pull the plywood up. As he does so, the stench hits him. Underneath is a rotting corpse. In its hands is what appears to be a mason jar. "Aw, Man," Miles groans, covering his nose and mouth with one hand as he backs out of the hole. _

_They wait a few minutes for the built-up odor to dissipate just a little. Connor holds the backs of Miles' knees so he can lower himself further into the grave. Gagging he reaches down and peels the jar from the rotting hands that are wrapped around it. "Pull me up," he tells Connor once he has it._

"_Look at that," Rachel says, pointing to the corpse's sleeve. Sewn onto it is a patch – the US Flag. Beneath the dirt they can see that the unknown body is wearing khaki. This is a patriot. _

_Connor is confused. "What the hell? Who buried him here and why? And who is Grace Sullivan?"_

_Miles' face is lit up like a Christmas tree. "Grace Sullivan was my mother. He used her name so I'd know to find this," he explains as he looks at the jar in his hands._

"_He?" Connor asks. From the look on Rachel's face, she's figured it out. _

_Miles actually laughs now. "I can only think of one person who knew my mom that's twisted enough to bury a message with a dead guy. Yep, this has your dad's name written all over it. The sick fuck." He pulls out the paper inside the jar. After reading what is written there, he shows it to Connor and Rachel. "Handwriting look familiar? Guess we're going to Kentucky."_

"It's just too weird. It's going to take time to get used to it," Miles said as he followed Charlie down the path that paralleled the fence separating the pasture from the cornfields.

Charlie stopped and leaned against the fence. "I get it, really. But she's going to have to back off." It had only been two full days since her mom and Miles had shown up. Monroe was still a wreck after learning about Connor. "She's only making it worse for him, and she's going out of her way to do it."

After going a few rounds with Rachel's typical "What were you thinking, what are you doing?" tirade, Charlie had given up trying to reason with her. Things between her and Monroe were fragile enough without Rachel's interference.

Sensing that Charlie would never hear her out, Rachel had changed tactics rather quickly. If she couldn't talk Charlie out of her current living situation, well, she was sure as hell not going to just sit idly by. It was one thing to be alone and a new mother of twins. Charlie needed help with them, and he was there. But now Charlie had her mother, so as far as Rachel was concerned his assistance was no longer required here. It didn't make since to her that Charlie would have let him stick around for any other reason, and she'd made sure to tell Charlie that more than once.

Monroe was still reeling from the loss and Charlie could tell he was doing his best to pull himself together. But Rachel knew him – knew what buttons to push, and damn if she wasn't going to do her best to push them. The very next morning after arriving, Charlie had been headed towards the nursery and had overheard Rachel's first offense in what was likely a well thought out battle plan.

"_What do you think you're doing here, Bass?" Rachel says as she enters the nursery._

"_I'm changing a diaper, Rachel." Monroe knows what she's really asking but he's tired and grieving and doesn't have the fight in him right now to pick up the gauntlet she's just obviously thrown down._

_Rachel stares at him coldly. "You know what I mean. What are you doing here with Charlie? Think you can just erase the past and play house now?"_

_Monroe finishes changing the baby's diaper and starts to get her dressed. "I'm just doing the best I can to keep my family safe and fed."_

"_Family? WE are Charlie's family. You're just a sperm donor. You even left her pregnant, remember?"_

_Finished, Monroe sets Angie back in her crib. He hands her a small rag doll to play with and then picks up Danny to get started with him. "I never would have left in the first place had I known; and the second I got my memories back I came back for her. That's more than anyone can say about you, Rachel. She almost died, and you weren't even there." Monroe isn't trying necessarily to hurt Rachel, but he's had enough. He gets it. Rachel still hates him- maybe even hates him more because he, of all people is the father of her grandchildren. Even so, what right does she have showing up on his doorstep after abandoning Connor to his fate and then judging him?_

_His words have struck her, so Rachel hits him right back. "I went to go fight so my grandchildren could live somewhere safe. You? You ran and hid from everything you've done like a coward. Because even before the blackout, that's exactly what you were: A coward that hid behind a bottle and Miles. Why don't you just run again, Bass? Before you have a chance to screw these kids up? You have no business having and raising children. Everyone around you gets drug down to your level. Even with your blood, maybe these kids will have a chance if you just disappear before you ruin them too – or get them killed."_

_Monroe flinches. He's already racked with guilt over Connor. Before he can form a response, Charlie steps into the room. "Mom, that's enough." She walks over to Monroe as a sign of solidarity. She can see the mix of rage and misery etched on his face. He hands her Danny, refusing to make eye contact as he forces a passive expression. Wordlessly he stomps out of the room. She hears the backdoor slam on his way out of the house._

"_What are you doing, Mom? He just found out that Connor is dead. Are you trying to push him over the edge?" Charlie is fuming. Rachel knows as well as anyone that Monroe does not handle loss and grief very well. _

_Rachel grabs Charlie's shoulders and pleads with her. "Charlie, honey, I'm just trying to save you all from his poison. You don't know him like I do. Over the edge? He's already there. You just don't know him well enough to see it."_

_Charlie does not see Monroe for the rest of the day. He returns to the house very late. Charlie has fallen asleep on the couch waiting for him. She knows he has to come back to sleep: Gene is using the cot in the stable for the time being, so there is no other bed for him other than the one they share. She rouses when she hears the door open. _

_She knows it's him, but his gait is uneven. She jumps up and follows him down the hall. He's about as drunk as she's ever seen him. He passes out as soon as he flops down on the bed. With a sigh, she takes off his boots and drags him over to his side of the bed. She slides under the covers next to him. Even drunk and out he must sense her presence, because he instinctively rolls towards her. Charlie brushes his hair back off his forehead, noting that he's due for a haircut. He's going to feel like death in the morning._

"Look, I'll talk to her, okay?" Miles' voice broke Charlie out of her reverie. In truth, he was worried about Monroe too. It's the third morning after their arrival. He knew that Monroe had not had a lot of time to mourn – especially when one of those days was spent overcoming what Gene had at one point been worried was acute alcohol poisoning (Monroe had retched for hours after waking up from that bender). But he had watched Monroe do this before, and he was afraid of where his friend was headed. Even Miles could see that Charlie and their children needed him. Someone needed to rein the man in before he got too lost.

Miles felt trapped. He loved Rachel and didn't want to be stuck in the middle. He'd taken what Daniel had said to heart. Maybe Monroe did deserve a second chance. He'd gotten one after all, and it had changed him for the better. "What are you doing, by the way?" Miles changed the subject abruptly.

Charlie had been dangling a handful of carrots over the fence and whistling off and on for the past few minutes. "Just watch," she said. As soon as the words were out of her mouth a goat wandered over to the fence. She yanked the carrots back just enough to keep just enough to keep them out of the animal's reach.

"There's a good boy. Look what I've got. Wanna snack? I bet you do," she taunted the poor hungry animal as she waved the carrots around. Without warning she tossed the carrots to the edge of the cornfield.

"What did you do that for?" Miles asked in total confusion.

Charlie dashed away from the fence and into the cornfield, motioning for Miles to follow her. "Get out of his line of sight," she snapped.

Miles complied. He ducked behind the row of corn and stood next to Charlie. "Okay, you've lost it kid, you know that?"

"Shhh!" They watched as the goat started to kick at the fence, desperate to get to his favorite treat. After a few minutes of solid butting and kicking, the board broke. The goat ducked under the remaining board and sauntered over to the carrots and picked them up before disappearing into the other side of the field.

Charlie looked overly pleased with herself as she started back down the path. "You coming?" she called over her shoulder.

Miles started to follow her once more. "You going to tell me why you just convinced a goat to make a run for it?"

Charlie waited for Miles to catch up. "That goat is Dickhead, Monroe's arch –nemesis. It'll give him something to do and someone to be mad at other than himself and mom."

Miles laughed as he shook his head at her. "You are demented. Smart, but demented. I like it. I guess you've gotten to know Bass better than I thought. When in doubt –"

"-keep him busy," Charlie finished the sentence for him.

They both broke into laughter. A little while later they were standing outside of Charlie's dairy. Monroe had slunk off into the barn next door with the pretense of working, but they suspected he was really just trying to find a place to mope. Seeing Daniel walk by, Miles called out a bit louder than necessary. "You know you've got a broken fence next to the cornfield?"

"God Dammit!" a voice shouted from the barn. Charlie and Miles did their best to keep straight faces while they watched Monroe emerge from the barn and stomp over to the toolshed on the other side of the barnyard. When he was out of sight once more, their laughter erupted again. Daniel just shook his head as he walked on. "Northerners…" he said under his breath.

That Night, Monroe was still late getting to bed, but at the very least he didn't' smell like he'd fallen into a barrel of whiskey. He quietly undressed and got into bed. Charlie watched him, feigning sleep. He kept his distance, lying on his back and staring at the shadows the moonlight cast on the ceiling.

Annoyed and still worried, Charlie rolled over and propped herself up on her elbow. Monroe didn't even react to the fact that she was really awake. "I know you're grieving, but you need to snap out of it, Monroe." He turned his head and looked at her. His expression was passive and cold, but she could still see the pain he was trying so hard to conceal. She softened. "We need you."

With a sigh, Monroe pulled Charlie to him. He just held her close for a while, trying to find the words. "How many things could I have done differently? All the stupid little decisions we make every day – even just one of them could have made all the difference and he'd still be alive."

Charlie sat up abruptly. "Hey, don't talk like that. It wasn't your fault."

He turned away from her again, resuming his inspection of the ceiling. "No, your mom was right. Just being my kid got Connor killed. The Patriots may have pulled the trigger, but if I hadn't become what I am, it never would have happened. He deserved so much more than what he got out of life and I am the one to blame for it." Charlie opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off. "Makes me wonder what I'll do to screw up Danny and Angie."

Charlie was fed up. She tried to get him to look at her, but he simply refused. Before he had a chance to fight her, she jumped on top of him, straddling his hips and forcing herself into his line of sight. "You are not that man anymore," she ground out, her voice stern.

"Charlie, I will always be that man. Or, at least a part of me will." He desperately wanted her to understand.

Charlie lowered herself so that they were lying chest to chest. "You're wrong, and I'll prove it to you." She gently bent her head down and kissed him. "See, if you were still the person you were in Philly, I wouldn't be here with you now. You'll fight when you have to, and you'll kill when you do – to protect the kids. And maybe it will fuck you up in the head for a while after, but you're not the monster you're afraid of being."

Charlie pressed her lips to his once more. "So quit your moping and kiss me already, you big jerk," she said against his mouth. Unable to resist the feel of her body against his, he caved. Slowly, he started to move his lips against hers, kissing her back. He slid his hands up her arms and shoulders before running them up and tangling them in her hair. Charlie melted into him.

Without warning Monroe rolled, flipping her over and settling himself over her. Her lips parted in surprise and he took this as an opportunity to delve into her mouth. A low groan radiated from his throat as their tongues began a slow dance. Charlie ran her hands up his sides. His muscles contracted with the contact. She arched herself under him, trying to get closer. She could feel his arousal pressing up against her through his boxers and the thin cotton shorts she'd worn to bed.

Monroe yanked off her tank top and tossed it behind him. He rolled onto his side so he had a better view of her body, smiling in appreciation. The only other time they'd done this she had the lean, lithe body of an amazon. Now her curves were softer, her breasts fuller, hips wider. He stroked her body, starting with her neck, down to her hip and back then back up again, locking eyes with her as his found her breast, cupping it gently. He could see a flash of insecurity in her eyes at the changes motherhood had brought her body. "You are even more beautiful than before," he murmured as he began to tease her nipple with his thumb.

He slid down on the bed and started placing slow hot kisses across her abdomen, trailing the faint white marks there. He found that this evidence of the lives they'd created together turned him on in a way he would never have expected. Charlie's breath caught in her throat. She began to writhe under him as he slowly began to work his way up her body. She gripped his shoulders, digging her nails into him. "Please," she moaned.

Monroe worked his way up to her mouth. Charlie kissed him back as she drug her hands down his body and to the waistband of his pants. She slid them down as far as she could reach before he took over and kicked himself free before turning his attention to yanking her shorts and panties off. Charlie opened her legs for him, wrapping them around his waist. She felt the tip of him at her entrance and waited for him to slide inside her.

When he didn't immediately comply, she looked up at him questioningly. "Tell me," he said to her now. Now was his turn to let his own insecurities show.

Charlie reached up and caressed his cheek. "I love you," she whispered. With a groan he slammed himself home. She moaned as he stretched her, filling her. Monroe withdrew from her excruciatingly slow, leaving just the tip of him inside her.

He hesitated again, this time rotating his hips and teasing her as he moved in slow circles. Their eyes met. The motion drove her wild. She wanted him deep within her once more. "Again," he commanded her.

"I love you," she told him, louder and more forcefully as she tightened her arms around him.

"God, I love you, Charlie." He moaned as he thrust into her swiftly as his mouth came crashing down on hers. He continued now withdrawing from her slowly each time before ramming himself into her. Each brutal thrust forcing a moan from her as their tongues continued a duel of their own. With each thrust Charlie's hips rose to meet him. The feeling of him deep within her drove Charlie mad as she felt herself get closer to release.

Their mouths broke apart and she buried her face in his neck to smother the cries that she could no longer hold back as his pace increased, each thrust becoming more desperate. They clung to each other, their bodies making perfect contact from where they were joined all the way up to their shoulders. Charlie felt herself building up and was ready to explode when Monroe thrust into her one last time, groaning loudly. The feeling of him spilling himself against her cervix pushed Charlie over the edge and she shattered, convulsing around him as he finished emptying into her; she had to bite into his shoulder to stop the scream that threatened to escape.

After a few minutes, he kissed her tenderly before rolling over and pulling her onto his chest. They lay there together; slick with sweat as their hearts pounded and they caught their breaths. A while later, she was still lying there, tracing lazy circles on his chest with her fingertips. Monroe chuckled and squirmed. "That tickles," he said.

Charlie giggled. "Who would have thought that Sebastian Monroe, leader of armies is - of all things -ticklish?" Unable to resist, she did it again.

Monroe grabbed her hand. "Come on, Charlie. Stop!" Still, he was laughing. He brought her captured hand to his mouth and placed light kisses on her knuckles. "By the way," he said in between kisses. "You and Miles are totally busted."

Charlie looked up at him innocently. "Whatever do you mean?"

Monroe raised a brow at her. "Dickhead missed a carrot and Miles dropped his flask." Charlie shrugged, still intent on denying all. "Don't give me that Miss Innocent routine. I'm not buying it. I know better."

Charlie gave up the pretense. She sent him a wicket smile. "So how long did it take you to catch him this time?"

"About six hours. Evil woman."

Charlie flinched. She hadn't expected it to take him so long. "You mad?"

"I was for about five minutes – until I realized you were just trying to keep my mind off of things and Miles probably owes me for burying that jar with a body." Suddenly, Monroe flipped her over onto her stomach. He gave her a playful swat on the butt. "Don't do it again," He said with mock menace. He brushed her hair aside and placed his lips on the nape of her neck. He kissed her slowly down her neck and back, sending shivers up her spine. He worked his way back up again, his arms bracing him so he didn't crush her. She could feel him hardening behind her.

Charlie wiggled beneath him as he pressed his length against the back of her thighs. "Again?"

His breath was hot behind her hear. "You're damn right, again." This time they went slowly, their hands exploring each other's bodies carefully, learning every nuance. They finished only a handful of hours before dawn, finally falling asleep holding on to one another; sated and happy.

**If you can't tell, I really don't like Rachel. Elizabeth Mitchell is an awesome actress, but the character is a bitch in my opinion (If you can't tell by my writing). I also thought that it would be more true to canon to have Miles a bit more reluctantly accepting. Rachel, on the other hand has always been portrayed as the type to overlook something positive just to keep with her own internal definition of what is.**

**Also, rather than having lengthy dialog explaining what everyone has been doing in the interim (or taking forever moving the story along), I've chosen to kind of skip around with the use of flashbacks. I'm curious to know how that's working for everybody, so please let me know if you would be so kind**.


	8. Take The Owner's Manual And Shove It!

**A/N: Sorry for the delay in the new chapter. The holiday weekend is killer in the bar industry and I had to work all weekend! This was also another dreaded transition chapter. (The next will likely be as well, but it will probably end in at least a little action). Of course, I couldn't leave the story with oh, everything is all hunky dory with our favorite couple. Now I have to deal with the issue of the patriots. I've decided that the show wrapped up that conflict in too neat of a little bundle, so I'm going about it in a different way. I've also decided that I'm going to continue to use the flashbacks as a device to move things along, especially when I need chapters to skip around in time. The next chapter is fairly well written, just needs to be typed up and edited here and there before I can post.**

Monroe headed towards the stable, pushing the wheelbarrow as he went. It was only midmorning but already the day promised to be a scorcher. He was not looking forward to the task before him. Even with all of the stall doors that led to the paddock open, the stable would be stuffy. The beginning of August in Kentucky was hot and humid – in short, miserable.

It had been over two weeks since Miles and Rachel had arrived and everyone was finally settling back into things. For the first time since that night at the Carter farm, Monroe finally started to feel somewhat normal again. Since the temperature had gotten so damn nasty, Gene had been sleeping on the couch, but within the next week or so, that would no longer be a problem.

Daniel had decided that with so many people staying that it would be worth the time to fix up the old bunkhouse. He and Monroe had even discussed the possibility of taking on some permanent farmhands. In the meantime, they would wall off part of the structure to create a separate bedroom for Gene, as well as a makeshift office for him to work in. The doctor in town had been excited over the idea of him running a clinic for some of the locals living on the farms further from town.

The only major damper on Monroe's life, as far as he was concerned was Rachel. They would never get along. Too much had happened over the years, and the woman could carry a grudge like no other. It was like she wore a whole backpack full of them 24/7. At Charlie's insistence and for the sake of Miles' sanity, he'd put forth an effort to be civil, but he and Rachel were like Oil and Water. They'd never mix well together, even in the best of circumstances – and an overly crowded farmhouse in the middle of a heat wave was far from that. But, if putting up with Rachel was the cost of peace in his own bedroom, well he'd just have to suck it up.

_Charlie slowly opens her eyes. The light coming in from the window indicates that it's just now dawn. She can tell by the rising and falling of the chest behind her that he's still asleep. She tries to slip out of bed, but the arm around her waist tightens to keep her there. She twists to look behind her. Her movements have woken him. "Hey," she says with a sleepy smile._

_Monroe smiles right back. "Hey." They lay there and just enjoy the few minutes of peace. They've only gotten a few hours of sleep, but Angie and Danny will be up soon, so there is little point in trying to go back to sleep. Until then, they are both content to just enjoy the quiet._

_Deep down, Monroe know she should be getting up. Between the twins having been sick and the days of overwhelming grief, he hasn't done squat in almost two weeks. It's time to get back into the swing of things. They've been paying Avery's men for their help with the Barley harvest, and Monroe feels guilty about it. He knows that Daniel doesn't mind, but still- he's brought a lot of extra mouths to feed. Even so, Monroe can't quite force himself to get moving. It's just too perfect lying here._

_Charlie squirms against him. The feeling of her bottom rubbing him in just the right way forces his mind to shut down. He growls into her ear. Of course, she knows exactly what she's doing. This part of his body has apparently decided he needs to make up for lost time. He begins to touch her, starting at her neck and ending at the apex of her legs. Charlie begins to pant he strokes her there. She's wet and ready for him. _

_Monroe brings her thigh up and slides one leg in between hers. Their legs now tangled, she is open for him. With a shift of his hips, he's pressing up against her entrance. He brushes her hair aside and starts kissing the back of her neck. Charlie's breathing becomes fast and heavy. _

_Without further ado, he slowly pushes himself into her wet heat. Charlie moans. As he slowly begins to move, his arms come around her. He teases her breasts from behind, winning another low moan. He sets a slow, lazy pace. This morning he's simply enjoying her._

_Abruptly, Charlie pulls away from him. He watches her, confused. With a wicked smile she straddles him and starts to ride. He grabs her by the hips helping to lift her. As she slides back down on him, he thrusts his hips up to meet her. She leans forward to kiss him. The change in angle hits her just right. She begins to come undone. He's deep inside her and she's grinding her pelvis on his. With another loud moan, she comes apart. Not to be left behind, Monroe rolls them over, still impaling her. Each slamming thrust into her spent body pushes him closer. He buries his face in her hair as he empties into her with a groan._

_They collapse in a heap on the bed. "Well that's what I'd call one hell of a good morning," he says, still panting._

_Charlie smiles up at him. "You look better this morning." She reaches her hand up to caress his cheek. Monroe kisses her palm and then gives her a light peck on her lips. He withdraws from her, sliding down to rest his head on her stomach. "Yeah, I guess I am," he says almost in amazement. He places a few soft kisses on her stomach and then reluctantly leaves the bed. He's been wallowing for days. It's time to get back to living._

Once inside the stable, he picked a stall and got started with the disgusting task of raking up the manure and soiled straw. He'd been working for over an hour when he glanced up by chance to see Miles sitting in the hayloft above, feet dangling over like he didn't have a care in the world. Sitting next to him was a bottle of whiskey that he'd managed to sneak past Rachel.

"Um, what are you doing?" he called out as he looked back down at the task before him.

Miles picked up the bottle and took a nice, long drink. He let out a sigh of exaggerated satisfaction, just to make sure that Monroe could hear it. "Watching you work."

Monroe set down the rake he was using and wiped his brow on his sleeve. The stable was stifling. Even with all of the stall doors and windows propped open, there was almost no air circulation today. "I can see that. Why don't you try helping?"

Miles laughed. "Horseshit might be a great look for you Bass, but me? Not so much."

"Dick," Monroe bit out as he picked up the rake and went back to work.

Miles watched him for a while. In truth, he knew he should probably be helping; but then again, it was cooler up here in the loft and he did have a full bottle of whiskey all to himself. "Bass, what the hell are you doing here?" He finally asked.

Monroe traded the rake for a shovel and began scooping pile he'd made into the wheelbarrow. "I'm cleaning out a stable. And when I'm done, I've got a roof to patch; and after that, animals to tend to. In short, I'm working. You know, that thing people do when they want to make a living." He paused long enough to look up at Miles. "And I could get to that roof and those animals a lot faster if you'd get off your drunk, lazy ass and help me!" He snapped

With an exasperated sigh, Miles pushed himself away from the ledge and headed for the ladder. When he was down and standing next to Monroe, he handed him the bottle. "The Patriots are closing in. Texas isn't willing to take the war past the Mississippi. They've got people scattered and keeping an eye on things, but that's it." After Monroe took a few swigs, he snatched the bottle back. "What you should be doing is helping me plan our next move."

Monroe shook his head as brushed passed miles to move on to the next stall. "There is no next move. I'm out."

"What? What do you mean you're _out?_ You're just going to hide in a fucking stable the rest your life?" Miles saw the irony of their situation. A year and a half ago Monroe was berating Miles for eventually wanting to move on. He'd had talked about how at least he'd had a vision for the future and was trying convince Miles to join him. Now, Monroe was scraping up horseshit whereas Miles was the one urging him to do something.

Monroe stopped again. "What do you want from me, Miles?"

Seeing that this was clearly not working, Miles changed tactics. "What happened to your so-called vision? You were fighting to bring back the Republic. Now you're suddenly one of the Waltons? What gives?"

"Yeah, well that vision is dead and buried. Why can't you just leave it in the ground where it belongs? I'm trying to do what's best for the kids; trying to protect them and make sure they've got food on the table and a roof over their heads. If I go running off to fight the Patriots, who's gonna to do that?"

Miles gave up for now. If there was one thing he could say about Monroe, it was that he was stubborn as hell. He set the bottle aside and picked up a rake. At least he was buzzed enough to ignore the fact he was raking up shit.

Aaron stood in the center of the paddock, holding a lead. The yearling attached to the lead stood as far from Aaron as its tether would allow. Monroe leaned on the fence with a bemused look on his face as the yearling and Aaron stared each other down. "You'll have better luck if you stop looking like you're about to shit yourself," he called out.

"What's going on, Bass?" Miles said as he came up from behind. He and Rachel had now been here for over two months. In that time Miles had noticed the bizarre friendship that had at some point developed between the two men. "You and Aaron having a playdate?"

Monroe kept his gaze focused on the paddock. "Just watching Aaron lose a battle of wills with a horse."

"He won't move!" Aaron whined.

Monroe let out a laugh. "And he won't if you're afraid of him!" At that moment the colt chose to play tug of war with the lead. "Dammit," Monroe muttered. He jumped over the fence to take over before the animal hurt himself.

Happily handing over the lead and whip, Aaron joined Miles on the other side of the fence. "Giving up so soon?" Miles asked as they watched Monroe get the horse moving with a subtle tug on the lead.

Aaron tried to pay attention to Monroe's movements. Every so often he'd flick the whip at the ground just so, or make a clicking sound and the animal's pace would change. "I swear that creature hates me," he mumbled.

Monroe slowed the horse back down to a walk. "Okay, Aaron. Get your ass back over here," he ordered.

Aaron climbed back into the paddock and joined Monroe at the center. Miles couldn't hear what they were saying but it was obvious that Monroe was giving Aaron instructions. "You're teaching Aaron to train horses?" He asked as Monroe joined him once more. There were two things totally wrong with this scenario as far as Miles was concerned. One being Aaron working with horses. He could ride if he absolutely had to, but for the most part was terrified of them. The second being Monroe teaching anyone how to do anything other than fight. That was one thing. You could yell at recruits because they had no other choice but to obey. Teaching anything else required patience. That was something Monroe had always lacked.

"Why not? Need to do something with my time. Our little band of refugees are working in the fields, so I don't have to be out there." He broke off to bark a sharp command to Aaron. The man couldn't get a horse moving, but once it was, at the very least he could keep it going, as long as he was constantly reminded what to do. "You wanted us to start a proactive resistance? Well it costs money. I've got four yearlings to train. It'll go a lot faster if I have help. Daniel's got enough to do dealing with people in town and you're busy playing boot camp," he added. "Besides, I think we can both agree that I make people less nervous this way."

_Two days have passed since their quasi-argument in the stable. Despite Monroe's reluctance to get involved, the Patriots have forced their hands. News has come from one of Miles' contacts. The Patriots have fallen back east. The fighting with Texas has come to a halt. But, rather than accepting defeat they're apparently just regrouping and recruiting. They mean to turn the remnants of the Georgia Federation and Monroe Republic into an army worthy of taking out Texas and California by brute force. _

_The reprogramming camps that have been up and running in Alabama and Ohio have only been funneling in small numbers of replacement soldiers. They now mean to set up camps throughout the defunct nations. Tennessee has become saturated with khaki and it's only a matter of time before Kentucky is as well. They've heard that two farms on the eastern border of the former state have been commandeered for this purpose. _

_The twins have been long since put to bed and they've been holding a family meeting of sorts for the past two hours trying to figure out how to handle these recent developments. "We don't have a choice now, Bass." Miles argues. "If we've learned anything from Willoughby it's that we have to get people on our side before they Patriots start showing up with their star-spangled bullshit. If we wait, they'll take over the town."_

_Monroe drags a hand through his hair in frustration. "Don't you think I know that? But that means letting people in on my little secret. Avery and Jenny Carter were one thing, but the whole fucking town? It's more than just my neck on the line here. Think about what could happen to Charlie. She could hang right along with me."_

_Charlie stands up, annoyed. Her priorities changed the second she realized she was pregnant, but she's still a fighter and hates the idea of having to be protected by anyone. "I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself. You can't base every decision on trying to protect me."_

"_One, yes I can. And two, what about Daniel?" He gestures to where the old man sits with his evening glass of whiskey. He's been silently watching the debate with his usual quiet interest. "If people find out he's been knowingly hiding Sebastian Monroe…" He trails off, leaving the others to fill in the blanks._

_Gene decides it's time to put his own two cents in. "He's one of the most respected people in the area." He turns to the man in question. "If anything, maybe you can convince people to accept Monroe."_

_Daniel thinks about this for a few moments. "It could work. Might be worth a try."_

_The idea only agitates Monroe further. He starts to pace the room. "Out of the question."_

_Daniel sets down his glass and pushes himself from his chair. He places himself in Monroe's path. "Sebastian, quit your pacing. You're making everyone seasick." Monroe stops moving, much to Miles' obvious amusement. "What they're saying makes sense."_

_Monroe calms down for the moment. His expression softens. "Daniel, you could be arrested for helping me. Even if Beecher overlooks this, someone could get word to the Patriots. It could make you a target. You could lose everything – the farm; even your life."_

_Daniel places a hand on Monroe's shoulder in an almost paternal fashion. "I'm old, Sebastian. I've lived a good life. There's not much they can really do to me now." _

_It never ceases to amaze the others the affect Daniel has on Monroe. "What about the farm? It's been in your family for generations. They could take it from you."_

"_If it's to be yours after I'm gone, you'll have to fight to keep it, son." Daniel says quietly._

_Monroe's jaw almost drops, but he manages to refrain from looking like a complete confused idiot. "What are you talking about?"_

_Having sufficiently taken the fight right out Monroe, Daniel returns to his chair and his whiskey. He waits for Monroe to take a seat before he's willing to elaborate further. "I wasn't gonna tell you until I figured out the legalities of it. Kind of hard to leave property to a man that's hiding his identity – especially when we don't really have a government now. But yes, I mean to leave the farm to you and yours."_

_Monroe does his best to get his emotions under control. He's not exactly comfortable discussing this in front of the others. "I don't understand. Why leave it to me?"_

_Daniel downs the rest of his drink. "I told you, I'm old. I'm not going to live forever. I've got no blood relations left. You're the closest thing to family I have now; it's right and fitting."_

_Monroe is touched by this gesture, but at the same time he feels like he's been kicked in the gut. Everyone else is sitting in stunned silence. He gets up and wanders the room, settling in front of the window. He leans on the sill, looking out into the darkness around them. "I'm the reason you don't have anyone left to leave it to," he finally says quietly. His voice is now raw as he tries to regain his composure. _

_Those words set Daniel off. "Johnny knew what he was signing up for when he joined Georgia's army. And you didn't drop the bombs that took his wife and kids." His voice shaking with anger, Daniel got up once more and stalked over to Monroe, who turned to face him. "You've got a real problem with guilt, Sebastian. The woes of the world do not solely belong on your shoulders," he points a thumb casually at Rachel, "no matter how much that one wills it to be so. You done a lot of bad in your time, but you done some good since – even if you're too stupid to see it. Now it's my farm, and I've a right to give it to anyone I choose."_

_As crotchety as Daniel normally is, it is almost exclusively in good humor. He enjoys stirring the pot a little and getting people riled because his age lets him get away with it. Monroe has never actually seen him truly mad before now. Before he can even react, Daniel's anger is completely gone. It was as if he'd blown all of his steam in an instant. "I'm choosing you. I know you'll do right by this place. And I love those two young'uns as much as I ever loved my own grand kids. Only fittin' they be raised here."_

_Monroe hasn't meant to insult Daniel by questioning his judgment on this matter. He just doesn't understand how he's managed to accidently instil the man's loyalty. He cares about the old man to be sure. He's been a good friend and at times even a surrogate father when he needed someone to talk him down from doing something stupid. "Thank you," he says with gratitude. He takes his seat next to Charlie once more. "Well, what do you have in mind?" he asks Miles. _

_Miles explains his thoughts on the matter. It's simple: feel out the locals, take them aside one at a time and get them on board. Tell them what the Patriots had been doing in Texas, and hope they agree to stand against them when the time comes. Daniel has been talking about hiring on some help on a more permanent basis. They can use this to their advantage and take in some of the men that have been displaced from their farms by the Patriots. They will have witnessed firsthand what the Patriots are up too and that means they will be willing to fight back. That's half the battle. The other half is to train them, which Miles can do. _

_Throughout the evening, Aaron, Priscilla and Rachel have been largely silent. Monroe doesn't give a damn what Rachel thinks about all of this, but Aaron and Priscilla have become a part of their weird little family. "What do you think?" he asks them now. _

_Aaron shrugs. "If you're in, I guess we're in too. Not that we are really fighters by any definition. But we'll back your play and help any way we can." _

_Miles shoots Rachel and Charlie a strange look. He'd never thought he'd see the day that Aaron deferred to Monroe's better judgment on, well anything. Funny what can happen over time. "Well, at least we're all in agreement," He mutters under his breath. And thus their little resistance was born._

Over the past six weeks, Daniel had been going into town several times a week under the guise of farm business, but he was really feeling out the people in town. So far they'd gotten quite a few people on board. The patriots didn't seem to have a lot of support in town, but they were being careful. The biggest obstacle so far had been swaying Robert Beecher, the sheriff. It had been risk, but it ended up paying off. For one, without Atlanta to oversee things, Beecher had become the de facto authority in town. No longer having a form of government, the locals relied on him to keep the peace. He did his best to follow the previous laws of the land and deferred to a council that the town had since elected just to keep things in balance.

As long as no one that knew Monroe's identity was funneling information back to the Patriots, he was at least safe from arrest for now. Beecher had initially been upset over Daniel's deception, but he'd gotten over it. He'd gotten to know the man under his alias, and had rather liked him. Monroe had even helped break up a bar fight turned brawl a few months ago when he happened to have been in town. The instigators had been from the next town over and Monroe had helped in wrangling them into the holding cells in Beecher's office.

Avery Carter was their easiest convert. He'd already known Monroe's identity and one of the farms that the Patriots had taken over had belonged to a friend of his. The man had been killed when he'd tried to put up a resistance. He'd learned of all of this when one of the farmer's cousins (and farmhands) had arrived at Avery's farm a month ago, telling of what had happened that day.

There may not have been a lot of trained men in the area, but Miles and Monroe were finding that they were at least willing to learn. If they could eventually get the entire town behind them, they could start working on some of the neighboring towns as well. Part of what had made the Patriots so dangerous was the way people were buying into their act until it was too late. Keeping them out was half the battle. The Patriots didn't yet have the numbers to take the area by force; subterfuge was still a necessity.

As Miles watched Monroe offer a few more instructions to Aaron, he felt happy for the first time since they'd shown up here. They finally had a plan and for once it seemed to be working. When Texas had declared that they were holding off for the time being, Miles had been worried. He understood the reason why, however. If Texas kept pushing east, they'd leave themselves vulnerable to Mexico in the south. That was not worth the risk, especially since Mexico had shown it was soft to the Patriots. But if they could build a real resistance right here, they might be able to get at least some help from the Rangers after all.


	9. Troubleshooting: You're Doing It Wrong

Monroe guided his horse south, Brodie following quietly behind him. The dog could sense his master's unease. The Patriots had started coming in to the northern part of Kentucky from Illinois and Indiana. Miles would not be happy with this latest development, but until he could get back home to tell him, Monroe knew there was little he could do about it other than avoid them. Already he'd almost run into several patrols and lost an entire day because of it.

That had been two days ago. He hadn't seen any sign of them since, but he still was being overly cautious. The last thing he needed right now was to clue the tan fucks into the fact that he was not only still alive (as far as any of them knew, he was killed in that blast in Willoughby), but that he was close by. He was anxious to get home. He and Charlie had a lot to talk about when he got back, and he had a feeling he had some explaining to do.

_It's Sunday, and Monroe is taking advantage of having a little down time and spending it with the twins. Tomorrow he and Aaron will ride north to deliver two of the yearlings that have just finished their training. On a long journey, Monroe realizes that Miles is probably the better choice for a traveling companion. Not only is Aaron completely inept in a fight, but he's a horrible rider still; but he helped to train these animals (sort of), so he deserves to go. _

_The horses that they intend to sell are excellent creatures and they will bring in some much needed diamonds. They harvest has been good, so they've got enough food to go around, but food won't pay their new farmhands or by guns and ammo. _

_Charlie is in the dairy; Priscilla and Aaron have gone into town with Gene. The others are scattered around. He has no idea where Rachel is (nor does he care) and he assumes that Miles is with her, following like a horny little lost puppy. For now it is just him and the kids – a rare occurrence of late. He's sitting on the bench swing, watching them toddle around on the porch happily. Brodie is taking advantage of Monroe's good mood and is sitting on the swing next to him. Another rare occurrence – He's on the furniture without getting yelled at. _

_Every so often, one of the kids runs over to Monroe to show him some bug or rock they've found. Every so often he has to run over to them to take said bug or rock out of one of their mouths. It is on one of these occasions that he picks up Danny to discover that he's in dire need of a new diaper. He picks up Angie as well and takes them both inside. He sets Angie inside the wooden playpen that he's set up in the living room and heads into the nursery to take care of Danny. _

_He returns a few minutes later to find Angie gone. His daughter is proving to be quite the climber. She's already been walking for a month, whereas her brother has only been at it for a week. Two nights ago she discovered she could climb out of her crib. He hadn't even thought about that when he'd put her in the playpen – Its rails are taller than the ones on the crib by over six inches. Six inches is a lot to an eleven month old. _

_Knowing Danny can't come close to climbing anything yet, he sets his son inside the playpen now and sets about finding where his twin has wandered of too. Monroe isn't worried. She's in the house somewhere; probably hiding with a big smile on her face. He's looking under the couch – a favorite hiding spot of hers when Brodie yips from behind him. Monroe instantly feels the panic rise in his chest. He's absolutely sure that he'd left Brodie on the porch, which means the screen door didn't latch when he'd come in. "Brodie, stay!" he commands his dog as he bolts outside._

"_She's not even one. She couldn't have gone far," Monroe says aloud, trying to reassure himself. He doesn't see her in front of the house. He goes around to the side, and there she is, next to the woodpile. Breathing a sigh of relief, he takes a step towards her. Suddenly Angie lets out an ear-piercing scream and starts to wail. He runs over to her. He is only a few feet away when he hears a telltale rattle._

_The blood drains from his face when he realizes why she has screamed. He slows his approach. Grabbing a piece of wood from the top of the pile, he carefully circles around his daughter. She is holding her arm and he can see blood. She looks up at him and lifts her arms up to be held. He can't take that chance yet. If he picks her up, the snake could strike again. _

_He gets into position and the snake turns its attention to him. Before it can strike again, he brings down the piece of wood as hard as he can. The rattler is dead instantly. He picks up Angie and runs to the porch with her. She is still screaming and sobbing. He removes her hand from her forearm and sees two fang marks, confirming his worst fear at that moment: she's been bitten._

_Still holding her he goes inside and pokes his head out the back door. "Charlie!" he bellows, hoping she will hear him. He can hardly leave Danny alone to find someone to help. He needs Gene, but the town is a three hour ride away. He calls over to Brodie. "Go get Charlie!" Knowing the command well, the dog leaps out the back door and takes off in the direction of the dairy._

_He goes back inside and paces the living room. He holds Angie close, keeping her arm down, below her heart. He hears Brodie barking excitedly from out back. Charlie is coming. By now, Angie has stopped crying. This sends another wave of panic through him. He sits down on the couch to look her over. She is alert and watching him. Every now and then, she lets out a little snivel. It's been fifteen minutes or so since she's been bitten._

_As he hears the backdoor open, he inspects the bite mark on her arm. The bleeding has slowed and it's not swelling. He lets out a breath that he wasn't even aware he was holding and relief washes over him. "It was a dry bite… A dry bite…" Charlie finds him like this, repeating those words over and over again as he holds their daughter close to his chest, tears in his eyes. _

"_What happened?" Charlie says as she rushes into the room. She drops to her knees to have a look at Angie. She can tell that the child has obviously been crying, and the look on Monroe's face has her terrified._

"_She climbed out of the playpen and somehow got outside," he started to explain. He is slowly calming down._

_Charlie starts to lose it. "She what? Where the hell were you?"_

"_I was changing her brother. How the hell was I supposed to know she could climb out of it?" He snaps. _

_Charlie realizes he's right. She still wants to yell at him, but she can see that he is still in the process of recovering from thinking he'd lost her. She decides to cut him some slack. "Did she fall? Get hurt?"_

"_I found her out by a woodpile and she kind of got bit by a snake." He winces when he says that last part. _

"_What kind of snake?" Charlie's voice breaks._

_He winces again. "Diamondback."_

_Charlie's eyes are shooting daggers at him. "A rattlesnake? You let our daughter get bit by a rattlesnake?"_

"_Will you calm down? It was a dry bite," He gets it. She's pissed. If the situation was reversed, he'd be pissed too. But his daughter has just scared ten years off the end of his life, so he'd rather not be yelled at right now._

_Charlie stops her yelling again. She knows it's not helping. "How can you be sure?" She chokes out._

_He relaxes his hold on Angie so Charlie can see for herself. "Look, she's fine. It's not swelling. Rattler bites swell a lot and fairly quickly. We got lucky."_

_Angie is basking in all the attention she's getting. She's long forgotten the pain of the bite or the anxiety caused by her father's reaction to the mean thing that had hurt her. "And the rattler?" Charlie asks. _

"_Dead." _

_Charlie stands and picks Angie up off of Monroe's lap. Danny has started to cry in the playpen, mad at being confined and that his sister is getting both of his parents' undivided attention. Monroe goes to hold him, instantly calming the boy down. Charlie stays close the rest of the day. When Gene returns from town, he gives her a checkup just to be on the safe side, but all he does is confirm what Monroe had already told her. It was a dry bite and she will be just fine. _

As the sun got lower in the sky, Monroe looked for a good place to set up camp. He was not looking forward to spending another cold night without a fire, but he was not willing to risk it. Even without having to avoid Patriots, he was still travelling with a sack full of diamonds from the sale. That in and of itself was good reason to be paranoid; no matter how good he was, if a bandit brought enough friends he'd still be screwed.

It was well past dark when he finally found a spot that offered enough protection for him to even consider sleeping there – not that he ever slept well on the road in the first place. Even if he was traveling with others he never seemed to fall fully asleep, but this unfortunate side-effect of travelling had kept him alive on more than one occasion. As he unsaddled his horse, he started to question for the millionth time his judgment in taking off on this trip alone.

_Monroe is in the stable checking on the yearlings he and Aaron will take with them in the morning. The trip will take a little over a week, and if everything goes according to plan will bring in a very good price. He checks their mounts as well, one last time. He doesn't want any delays. He hates leaving for this long, especially after what happened earlier today. He'd even considered convincing Miles to take his place on this trip instead, but he knows it has to be him. Miles doesn't know anything about the animals they'll be selling. That knowledge will help in negotiations. _

_He turns to leave and finds Rachel glaring at him from the doorway. It's been a long day and dawn will come all too soon. He is in no mood to put up with her tonight. "What do you want, Rachel?"_

"_A rattlesnake, Really, Bass?" She spits the words at him. "I knew you were a total fuckup, but that is really something. She could have been killed."_

_In the mood or not, this is a confrontation that is long overdue. "Like you're mother of the year, huh Rachel?" He takes a menacing step towards her. "You left your kids, remember? Left them to follow and fuck their uncle."_

_Rachel narrows her eyes at him. His words have struck home, he can see it. "You took me prisoner."_

_He's heard this enough times already to last him a lifetime. "Maybe it ended up that way, but that's not how it started. We asked Ben to come and tell us how to turn the power back on. We knew he was involved somehow. You showed up instead and offered yourself as hostage."_

_Rachel takes a nervous look behind her. It's still warm enough that the windows to the house are open. She doesn't want anyone to overhear. She ventures past him, closing the door behind her. She heads towards the tack room. For some stupid reason (that he will later question several times over), Monroe follows her. "I did it to protect Charlie and Danny from the Republic. If you had power you would have done… well what you did when you finally had it."_

_Monroe just laughs coldly. It is inconceivable that she's still sticking to that story. "Bullshit. You think I didn't know what the two of you were doing?"_

_This conversation has taken an unexpected turn and has given her the edge she needs. Rachel smiles up at him. "You think I didn't know that you were jealous?"_

_Rachel never ceases to amaze him. "I was what? And people say I'm delusional."_

_Rachel advances towards him. "Why else would you take advantage of our little captive-jailor relationship, Bass?"_

_Monroe shakes his head in disbelief. He can't believe that she's even bringing this up. "You think you're going to use that against me? That was a long time ago, right after Miles left – and you were the one that started it." They also both knew that he'd taken to locking her up after that night. Before then, Rachel had pretty much free reign of Independence Hall. He'd been drunk - very drunk that night and had been wrecked over Miles' recent assassination attempt and subsequent flight from Philly. So when she showed up in the middle of the night, hell bent on getting into his pants, he hadn't put up much of a resistance. _

"_I was your prisoner," Rachel repeats again. "I had to do whatever it took to survive, especially after Miles left me with a sociopath."_

_He turned away from her. She really was a vindictive bitch. "I never treated you poorly until after that night. And I never would have if you hadn't tried to use it against me afterwards, just like you are now."_

_Rachel places herself back in his line of sight, her cold smile still plastered on her face. He could practically see the wheels turning in her head. "I wonder what Charlie would think if she found out that the man she's been shacking up with fucked her mother?"_

_The woman is really hell bent on getting him out of the picture. After that one night, he knows that he'd done some unforgiveable things to Rachel, and she will never let it go, even for Charlie's sake. But what she's just threatened to do is beyond low. "Don't. Do you have any idea how much that would hurt her? Do you even care?" _

_Monroe has heard enough. Rachel cannot be reasoned with when it comes to his and Charlie's relationship. Before she can respond, he reaches out and grabs a screwdriver from the workbench behind her. He holds his hand out to her. "You want me gone so bad? Fine, do it."_

_She looks at the object in his hand, a dazed look on her face. When she doesn't immediately reach for the screwdriver, he grabs her by the wrist and forces her to take it. He takes a step forward. Out of instinct, Rachel holds it out. He stops when the tip of the tool is pressed up against his chest. "Come on. It's your weapon of choice, isn't it? You screwdriver wielding psychopath."_

_Rachel sees the absolute rage in his eyes. She knows that she's pushed him too far. She drops the screwdriver and brushes past him, running out of the stable as fast as she can. Monroe waits for a few minutes, trying to calm himself down before he goes back into the house. _

_Charlie is in their room when he enters. She can almost feel the anger radiating off of him. "What happened now?"_

_He takes a deep breath and holds it for a second, still attempting to rein in his temper. "I can't live like this anymore, Charlie. Your mom needs to find a place in town or something."_

_Charlie is confused. She goes over to him. "What happened?"_

_Monroe has no intention of going into details. "I just can't live with that woman any longer. I've tried Charlie. I really have; for you and Miles, I've done my best."_

_Charlie stands firm, her hands on her hips. There is no way he's going to make her kick her own mother off the farm. "She's family."_

"_No, I'm your family. The kids are your family. Miles, Daniel, even fucking Aaron and Priscilla are your family. Rachel? She's just a bitch with a vendetta. It's her or me Charlie. I'm not going to live my life like this. Not anymore." He hadn't meant to give her an ultimatum when he'd come in here, but he feels like she's left him no choice. _

_Charlie's eyes filled with tears of anger and frustration. After what had happened earlier today, she cannot handle the position he was putting her in. "Don't you dare try and make me choose between you and my mom. You might not like my decision."_

_His anger immediately dissipates. It's like she's just kicked him in the junk. "Fine," he says, clearly hurt. His last words to her bring to mind the last time they've fought. This time, he doesn't slam the door. He whistles for Brodie before silently leaving the room, gently closing the door behind him._

It was the middle of the night. Monroe was only lightly dozing when he heard a twig snap in the distance. Brodie must have heard it too, as he started to growl. He reached for his sword belt and gun. He kept low to the ground, taking cover behind a large tree as he bucked the belt around his waist.

He waited in the dim moonlight until he saw them. The khaki uniform was a dead giveaway. Thankful that they were just patrolling and hadn't yet spotted him, he started to back up, intending on saddling his horse and getting the hell out of there. Before he could take more than a few steps, he heard a gun cock behind him. "Hands up" a very young voice ordered.

Monroe didn't hesitate. He dropped his weapons and slowly turned with his hands held out in front of him. Before the kid had a chance to react, he rushed him. Taking him down, Monroe forced the kid's rifle up and shot him under the chin. Monroe grabbed his weapons and raced back to camp. He was reaching for the saddle when the rest of the squad came into view. The fighting began. He took his first shot, bringing down one of them immediately. Another man took aim and fired. The bullet went through Monroe's side. A second shot went wide and hit the horse in its right hindquarters. The horse reared, frightened and in pain.

Monroe used this distraction to his advantage and advanced toward them with his sword. Darkness and the Patriots' inexperience were on his side. He shot one more as he got close and then went after the other three. He ran one through with his sword and then turned to use the kid's rifle against another. The last one went down with a slice to the throat.

Monroe ran over to the horse and grabbed the reins before the animal bolted. The wound wasn't serious; the animal would survive it and would probably still be able to be ridden – but not tonight. Monroe could hear shouts in the distance. "Yay, they've brought friends," he grumbled.

His mind raced. He didn't have a whole lot of time. He dug the bag of diamonds out of his jacket pocket and put them in the saddle bags already strapped to the horse. The saddle would just have to be left behind. It would only hinder the horse now and he didn't have time to secure it anyway. Offering up a quick prayer, he slapped the animal on the rump and sent it running. With any luck, the animal would find its own way home.

He worked quickly. He knew there was a chance he wasn't going to make it back home in one piece. He was frantic. If he didn't come back, Charlie would think he'd left her. He used his knife to cut one of the patches off of a dead Patriot's uniform. He called over to Brodie. The dog walked over to him. Monroe untied the rope that served as Brodie's collar. Using the knife again, he cut a hole into the center of the patch and threaded the rope through it. He tied it back round his dog's neck.

"Go home, boy." He said. The dog cocked his head at Monroe, as if he was desperately trying to understand. Monroe sighed. "Go get Charlie, Brodie. Go get her." The dog finally got it. With one last look at his master he let out a low whine and ran off into the woods, following the path the horse had taken.

Monroe winced as he grabbed his weapons. The bullet had gone straight through and most likely hadn't hit anything vital, but it still hurt like hell. He opened his jacket and shoved his spare shirt inside, doing his best to get it onto both sides of the wound. He zipped his jacket up once more and hoped it would help to stop the bleeding. He didn't have time to tend to it further. He'd sent the horse and Brodie south towards home, so he headed due east. He'd have to take the long way around; he didn't want to take the risk of leading the Patriots straight to Providence.

Monroe didn't make it more than a mile before he was surrounded. He fought hard, but one of them got into his blind spot and took him down. He waited for the end to come, but it never did. He watched as a figure approached from the distance. "Sebastian Monroe. Fancy meeting you here." The pasty, pinched face of Ed Truman loomed over him.

"Dammit," Monroe muttered under his breath right before butt of a rifle came down, rendering him unconscious.

_It is dawn before Charlie realizes he's left. She had assumed he'd only gone to sleep in the stable, just like their last major blowout. Aaron comes in and announces that he's gone. He's taken the yearlings with him. "I always knew he couldn't be trusted," Rachel says, sounding rather pleased with herself._

_Charlie looks at her mother, truly looks at her. This is a woman that has been twisted by bitterness and hate every bit as much as Monroe had been twisted by power and loss. The difference is that he's been trying so hard to let it all go. Rachel, on the other hand is holding onto her hatred of Monroe like it's a lifeline. "We argued last night – about you. He left because of you." _

_Miles can hear the anguish and disappointment in Charlie's voice. He knows he's about to get stuck in the middle again. "What did you do, Rachel?" Even he is worried; this is not the time for anyone to be wandering around alone, even if that someone is as capable as Monroe._

_Rachel shrugs. "I didn't do anything. I just told him the truth." She doesn't elaborate. Despite her nonchalance, she suddenly has a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Maybe she really did go too far this time_

_Charlie grabs her mother by the arm. "Hopefully, he's just gone to do the sale on his own. That gives you a week to find a place to stay."_

Monroe woke up feeling groggy; his mouth, dry. He immediately realized he'd been drugged after he'd been knocked out. His shirt and jacket were missing, but his side had been bandaged. Whatever Truman had in store for him must involve keeping him alive.

He looked around him. The walls and floor were concrete. A dim stream of sunlight filtered in through a small window above him. He must be in a basement somewhere, which meant that they were likely quite a bit further north than where they'd started. Basements weren't as common in the southern portion of the state. He briefly considered the chances of escape through the window, but it seemed unlikely. The window was too small for him to fit through.

The room was empty save for the metal cot he'd been laying on when he'd awoken. There was a bucket and canteen in the corner of the room. The purpose of the bucket was quite obvious. He opened the canteen and smelled its contents. It appeared to be plain water. He took a small sip, tasting but not swallowing. He didn't trust the Patriots not to drug him again or poison him, but then again why give him a bucket to piss in if he was going to be passed out. Or, why go through the trouble of patching him up if they were just going to poison him later?

Either way, he did not relish the idea of dying of thirst, so he drank it anyway. He paced the room for what seemed like hours. Bored with this, he sat back down on the cot. He didn't know how long he was going to be down here. If the growling in his stomach was of any indication, it had been at least a few days since he'd eaten. He might as well concern energy while he could.

… back in Providence…

Charlie sat on the front porch holding her daughter on her lap. It had been ten days. He should have been back by now. That is, if he'd intended on coming back at all. The words of their fight echoed in her mind. He'd left her. He'd taken the colts to sell and was on the run. Where else could he be? Whatever had happened between Monroe and Rachel that night had been enough to send him way when he thought she'd chosen her mother over him.

She had been alternating between devastation and anger ever since he'd left. How could he just walk away like that? What about the twins? Even if something between them had broken that night, how could he leave them? Then again, what the hell was the matter with her? _You may not like what I decide._ Why did she have to go and say that? She knew him well enough to know that if he was willing to risk hurting her or Miles by trying to throw Rachel out, he must have had a very good reason for having done so.

Charlie heard the screen door open, but did not bother turning her head to see who had joined her. "He'll come back," Miles said quietly as he joined her on the swing. He plucked his great-niece up and started to bounce her on his knee. "I've known him my whole life. I know him. He'll come back for them. Family is everything to him. He probably just went alone to clear his head. You'll see."

They sat together for an hour or so. Priscilla came out and offered to get Angie ready for bed. The twins were down to only nursing twice a day now. One of those times was right at bedtime. "I'll come put them down in a minute," Charlie said quietly as Priscilla headed inside with Angie. A little while later Charlie reluctantly stood up to go inside. She had her hand on the door when Miles suddenly said, "What's that?"

Charlie slowly turned back around. She saw something approaching down the road in the distance. Side by side, she and Miles watched until it was close enough to see. It was a horse – without a rider. Behind it, a Border collie nipped at its hooves, sending it towards them. This was the horse Monroe had taken with him. Miles opened to door and shouted to the others to come out.

Charlie rushed off the porch and grabbed the horse's reins. She could see the crusted blood on the animal. She took a closer look. "It's been shot." She suddenly felt sick.

Daniel, Rachel and Aaron came out of the house. Miles joined Charlie by horse. "Well, we know it didn't throw him – no saddle." He started to rifle through the saddlebags now. He pulled out the sack of diamonds. "And we know he was on his way back, at least," he added thoughtfully.

Daniel bent down to grab Brodie by his collar. Brodie had been barking excitedly, which was causing the horse to stamp nervously. Miles needed to get the animal stabled so Gene could look at its injury. He felt something in his hand as he held the dog still. There was something attached to the collar. He squatted down for a better look. In all his years, Daniel had never felt his blood run cold before now. He untied the rope and went over to where the others were standing. "Have a look at this."

In his hands he held an American flag with a rope threaded through it. "Bass must have done this and then sent the animals towards home." He locked eyes with Charlie. They both were trying not to panic. "That means he's still alive and couldn't have been captured – at least not before he found the time to do this."

Rachel backed away from the others. _This is my fault. What have I done?_

**A/N: Yeah, so I decided to have a little bit of fun with the argument Monroe and Rachel had in the S&it Happens! episode. I just kind of turned it around a little, and instead of the kiss, Monroe did the bit with the screwdriver instead – just as drastic, but not "cheating" lol. I just like his character more than hers, so I had to make it a little more of her idea and him just being along for the ride (well that and I needed a reason for him to pick a fight with Charlie and skip town so he could get captured). Since the show tends to use being captured as a device to move things along, I decided – what the hell, I'll do it too. Warning: the next chapter will not be very fun for Monroe. That chapter is basically written and hopefully I can get it up tomorrow or the next day. Thanks again for reading and for any and all feedback that you send my way. **


	10. When In Doubt, Go Back To Step One

**A/N: WARNING! This chapter depicts torture. I tried not to be overly graphic, but it might be disturbing to some people. If you count yourself among that group, you may wish to only read the first standard type section and only the italicized sections after that. This is a quasi-transitional chapter. There is a lot of character development throughout (including in the sections where Monroe is put through the ringer), but most of the actual plot movement is in the italicized portions, so you can kind of get the gist with just the first section and those without the ick factor. But if you aren't bothered by violence, I hope you do read the whole thing. More notes at the end.**

Of all the people to catch him, the fact that it was Ed Truman was so ironic that Monroe found it disgusting. He had been left alone for two full days before anyone had come. Of course the second the door had opened, Monroe had done his best to escape. In retrospect, blindsiding the soldier with the piss bucket and trying to wrest his rifle from him was probably not the wisest thing he'd done, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

All that had earned him was an order to have him constantly restrained and the loss of the bucket. At first he'd expected a second execution. The fact that he was still alive was a source of embarrassment for the Patriots. Such a big deal had been made of his first one that they'd looked like fools when word got out that they'd botched it. He hadn't realized how wrong he could be.

"Let's talk again about the Mathesons, shall we?" Truman asked again as he reentered the room. They'd already been going at this all day.

Monroe glared at him. "I've already told you, Ed. I don't know where they are. Last I heard they were in the plains somewhere kicking some khaki ass."

Truman walked around him slowly. Monroe rolled his eyes at this tactic. There was no way he would ever be intimidated by the man. He was pasty and soft – a pencil pusher, nothing more. "Do you really expect me to believe that after helping them for months that you just walked away? Just like that?"

Monroe stared him down. "Just like that. As I said, I got tired of playing Slap-the-Patriot."

Truman bent low, gripping the armrest of the chair and putting his face inches away from Monroe's. "And you just happened to be passing through?"

"Like I said." He cocked his head to the side, never breaking eye contact. Truman backed off and casually leaned up against the wall. The Patriot seemed to be calculating his next move, so Monroe took the opportunity to antagonize him a little.

"So tell me something, _Ed_. How much trouble did you get into when slipped through your fingers in Willoughby?" Truman bristled under the casual use of his first name. Monroe knew he was trying to hide the fact that it bothered him, which just made him use it as much as possible. "Must have been a lot if you're stuck out here in the field instead of some cushy little town. I mean, our escape did lead to Texas turning on you guys and all."

"Think you're cute, don't you, Monroe?" Truman was obviously trying to keep his cool.

Monroe only laughed. "I'm fucking adorable." He smiled genuinely. Truman's inability to hide his annoyance was actually kind of funny. The man was in over his head and they both knew it. He'd never done this before. _I, on the other hand am a pro, _he thought to himself.

Truman finally regained control of himself. "I think you're protecting Miles and Rachel Matheson. What I don't understand is why. Haven't they both tried to kill you?" This was met with a blank stare. "Not that it matters. You will talk. We have ways to ensure that," he left the threat hang between them.

Monroe laughed again; a full bellied genuine laugh. "Torture? Really, _Ed? _Do you have any idea who you're fucking with? I've tortured plenty of people." He couldn't keep the smile off of his face. "You know what I think? You have no idea what you're doing here. How long have you had me? Four, five days, right? If I was in your shoes, I'd already have everything I needed to know and my prisoner would be rotting in his grave by now. You're a fucking amateur."

Truman visibly flinched, indicating that once again, Monroe had struck a nerve. He left the room. A few seconds later he was replaced by three guards. "Bring it," Monroe told them as they advanced toward him, batons in hand.

Hours later, Monroe sat panting in the chair. As far as beatings went, well it could have been worse. Fearing he'd lose consciousness, Truman finally pulled them back and left him to think about his predicament. "Ready to have another chat?" Truman asked when he returned.

Monroe grinned and looked up at him with one eye – the other having swollen shut. He spat the blood that had pooled in his mouth in Truman's general direction, just barely missing him. "Sorry,_ Ed_. I'm a bit tied up at the moment. Have your people call my people. Maybe we can set something up for later in the week."

"Have it your way," Truman bit out as he nodded to his lackeys to start in on him again. This time his restraints were eventually removed and he was beaten to the floor. He wouldn't give Truman the satisfaction of hearing him cry out, so he laid there and took the beating. He coped with the pain of it by retreating into his head and trying to block it out. He thought about Charlie and the twins. He wondered what they were doing at that moment. The picture of them he'd conjured in his mind was the last thing he thought of when he finally lost consciousness.

"_Don't worry, we'll find him," Miles says as they follow the trail Charlie has picked up. They've been searching for five days, trying to figure out where he'd been when he'd sent the horse and Brodie home. They've brought the dog with them, and so far he's been able to retrace their path back. Unfortunately, since he'd instinctively rounded up the horse, that path is a bit winding. _

_Charlie has never been away from Danny and Angie for more than a few hours. Their search has forced her to abruptly wean them, against Gene's recommendation. But they need their father more than a few more months of nursing, so after leaving them with Priscilla and her mom she has left with the others to track him down. Avery and two of the men that had been there the night Monroe had helped recover Sarah have joined them. _

_She pauses in a small clearing. They are a 2-day ride from home (If they'd brought horses – which they have not out of fear of missing something). "This is it!" she calls out. Brodie is sniffing around the campsite, whining. A saddle sits discarded on one side of the clearing. On the other sits Monroe's discarded gear: his bedroll, a backpack. There are several bloodstains on the ground – too much for it to be from one person. The bodies that the blood has spilled from have been removed, however. _

_Miles looked around the abandoned camp and tried to picture what had occurred. "I'm guessing this is where he was when he was attacked. Since we know he was alive long enough to cut that patch off and send it back with the dog, he had to have left here on foot." He pointed to the various patches of dirt stained with blood. "The Patriots must have come back and taken the bodies. Bass wouldn't have wasted the time to hide them if he had to go on the run."_

_Charlie looked around. With so many people coming and going, it was difficult for her to figure out which tracks were his. Her eyes welled up. "I can't tell one set of tracks from the other. There's too many."_

_Miles looks around. "Okay, so we're north of Providence," he begins._

_Charlie interrupts him. "Yeah, but we knew he was headed south. The sale was a three day ride north, that doesn't tell us anything."_

_Miles holds up a hand to get her to shut up while he thinks. "And he sent the animals home from here. That flag patch was a message. He wouldn't send Brodie home with a message if he was right behind him."_

_Avery was with him now. "That wouldna made sense, would it? He must have headed a different direction – lead them bastards away." _

_Charlie looked at the tracks again. "He wouldn't have gone back north. He'd have headed back towards them. And there aren't any tracks that lead west, so he had to have gone east." She whistled to Brodie and headed off in that direction with the others following behind her._

Monroe stood in the middle of the Patriots' compound, chained to a flagpole. Above him, old glory flapped in the warm breeze. He was bruised and sore. He'd been left here for the past two days and nights. The rest of his clothing had been missing since he'd regained consciousness. Despite it being October, the sun had taken its toll on him after two full days of constant exposure with no shade to speak of.

The days have been unseasonably warm on top of it, the last reminder of this year's brutal summer. Being fall, the temperature had dropped quite a bit at night. He'd never considered sixty degrees cold until he'd experienced it naked, two nights in a row. In the time he'd been chained here he'd been beaten, hit with rocks, even pissed on.

Anything that could be done to degrade him further, the soldiers assigned to Truman have done. He'd dealt with as best he could, never losing the stoic expression he forced himself to wear. When he'd been knocked to the ground he simply picked himself up and stared straight ahead. At night, he did his best to doze standing up. He'd refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing him sleep in the dirt like an animal.

Finally Truman had him brought inside. He was thrown back into his cell. They hadn't even bothered restraining him again. He was severely dehydrated and burnt to a crisp; hardly in a position to make a break for it now. They left him alone for several hours. While alone, he squatted up against the wall with his head against the wall, trying to keep his abused skin from touching anything.

When Truman returned to ask him for information, he remained defiant. "Go fuck yourself," he said quietly. Once again, Truman's goons advanced. This time they carried metal rebar that they must have ripped from the crumbling foundation above. As the metal bars struck his sunburned and peeling skin, it lent a whole new dimension to the pain. Truman must have realized that in his condition, this beating could kill him because it didn't last for very long.

He was dragged up to a standing position as food and water were brought in. Monroe accepted the water, drinking greedily. When he was offered the bowl of tepid stew, he threw it back at them. The beating and the sun had left him feeling nauseous. He refused to allow them to watch as he puked the meal back up on himself, so he refused it outright.

It was several days before they bothered him again other than delivering food and water. At one point they force fed him, fearing that he would starve himself to death before he talked. He'd actually been surprised that he was able to keep the food down at all. He spent the time alone lost in his head, focusing on thoughts of Charlie and the kids. He long since had given up any hope of ever seeing them again. His goals now included keeping his mouth shut and dying with some sense of dignity.

_It has now been almost two weeks since Brodie and Monroe's horse had found their way back home. The search has come to an agonizing end. They tracked Monroe only a mile or so to the place where he must have been taken captive. At least there was only a little blood at the scene. He must have been injured, but still alive. Charlie picked up the trail again, but then it had rained. The downpour had been brief, but it had been enough to destroy any traces of where the Patriots had taken him. They followed what they had hoped was the right path, only to get stuck with a dead end. _

_Charlie had insisted on doubling back, but they'd found nothing. In the end, they'd returned home with no hope of ever finding him. Charlie now spends her days trying to cope. The grief she feels is overwhelming, rivaling the sense of loss she'd felt when she'd watched Danny bleed out almost three years ago. _

_Miles is not handling this any better. After he'd gotten over his anger at Monroe for his involvement with Charlie, he'd started the long process of forgiving him for the past. Things were still a little different between them, but it had felt good to have that friendship back. Now, he was well and truly gone. It has been two weeks with no sign. He knows deep down that Monroe was dead. _

_Rachel has been apologizing almost non-stop since their return. At first Charlie and Miles had both responded with complete resentment. But life has to move on. Rachel will live with the guilt of what she's done for the rest of her life. She's finally gotten her revenge on Monroe for Danny and Ben, but she feels no better for it. _

_She has gone to Miles and confessed what she had happened that night in Philly and how she'd threatened to use that information to blackmail Monroe into taking off. His initial reaction to the fact that she'd slept with Monroe had been to break things off with her. With Monroe's capture and likely death have prevented him blaming his friend for the betrayal. After all, Miles had left Philly because Monroe had gone insane. He can't blame a crazy person with an overactive libido for taking something that was offered freely._

_After a few days, Miles gets over his outrage. It was years ago, and it's not like he was one to talk. He'd left her there (returning later to learn of her supposed death), and after all she'd still been married to Ben at the time. Miles forces Rachel to swear never to tell Charlie about it. The knowledge will only hurt her – far more now than would have when Monroe was still alive. As the days slowly pass, Rachel throws herself into helping not only with their resistance but with the farm as well._

_Daniel seems to be the only one that has not given up hope. He's told Charlie already that if their fears prove true and Monroe is truly gone, he will leave the farm to her children. That it should pass to Monroe's kin has not changed for him, but he's not so convinced that the man is gone. "Look at what that boy has survived these past years. You mean to tell me that he's gone through all that only to be taken out on the way back from sellin' a few horses? I won't believe it until I see a body."_

_Out of everyone on the farm, Aaron has taken the news harder than everyone else. He feels even guiltier than Rachel. After all, he was supposed to go on that trip. If he'd been along, there' s no reason to assume that he wouldn't have been killed or taken right along with Monroe. But he didn't go, so he's still alive and well while Monroe is either held captive or dead. _

_He's never experienced survivor's guilt before. Oddly, he can see now how it had driven Monroe crazy over the years – indeed it is maddening. And the not knowing what has happened to the man only seems to make it worse. He finds himself wandering the farm, trying desperately to contact the nano. They can see everything. Maybe they can at least tell him Monroe's fate._

Monroe was awoken with a bucket of water. He'd been given several days to recover from their latest assault. He had a feeling Truman was either terrified of losing him or was finally doing what he should have in the first place and sent for an experienced interrogator. He was pulled back into the other room and chained to the wall. Truman approached him, holding out a piece of paper. "Do you know what I'm holding here?"

"A recipe for apple pie?" Despite his pain, Monroe still mocked him, just to show how little he cared about what Truman had to say.

"It's a full pardon, signed by President Davis himself." Truman took a step forward and shoved the paper in Monroe's face for him to read. Sure enough, it did appear to be exactly what Truman said. "All you have to do is tell me where to find Miles Matheson, who he's been allied with and what they're planning. The pardon will be yours."

Monroe attempted to laugh, but it came out as a dry croak. "Do you honestly think I'm dumb enough to believe I'm getting out of here alive?" he scoffed as he leaned his head against the wall. "Come on, Ed. You can do better than that. I've used the same promise more times that I can count. You're an idiot if you think I'm going to fall for that." It occurred to Monroe that if the signature was genuine, that meant the rest of the Patriots were aware he was here. This meant that Truman had finally upped the ante.

Truman left him again. Monroe's suspicions were confirmed when a mild mannered man replaced him in the room. "My name is Dr. Baxter. I've been told that you have some information that will be helpful to our cause. Let's talk about that, shall we?"

"How nice of Ed. He's brought me a new friend to play with. And here I was, starting to get bored with my other playmates," Monroe rasped. The two playmates in question unchained Monroe and drug him upstairs. He was brought into a large field tent and strapped to a metal table that awaited him. He struggled against his restraints as an old towel was placed over his face. As his interrogators began to pour water over the cloth from an old watering can, he began to gasp and gulp for air. No one noticed the lone Patriot soldier that watched from the opening in the tent.

Several days had passed. He was allowed only a few hours of reprieve at night before the waterboarding began anew. Every so often the cloth would be removed and he'd be given the chance to catch his breath as he was questioned further. Each time, he refused to tell them anything. Instead, he made sure his replies were as rude and snarky as possible.

Truman had stayed away during this phase of his interrogation. On the fourth day, he finally reappeared. Monroe was starting to fade in and out, so he was injected with a stimulant of some sort to wake him back up for Truman's presence.

Truman started to hold up a piece of paper in front of him. "I already told you. I'm not buying the pardon routine."

Truman laughed at him. "Oh, you've lost that chance. But I'd shut up if I were you, because I think you'll want to hear what I have to say."

Monroe simply closed his eyes in an attempt to look bored. "There is nothing you could possibly have to say to me that I'd care to hear." He turned his head to face Baxter. "Come on fuckhead, bring on the water. I'm thirsty."

Truman raised his hand to stop Baxter from moving. "We've had some interesting intel of late – from Louisiana of all places."

This got Monroe's attention. He turned to look at Truman again. He tried to keep his expression bland, but with the drug they'd given him, it was getting difficult to control himself. "What could that possibly be?"

"You see, we ran into someone that positively identified Gene Porter. And it turns out that his granddaughter was at some point pregnant." He waited for Monroe to give him some indication that he was correct. So far, he didn't get what he was looking for, but he proceeded anyway. "This friend was convinced to tell us that the good doctor had mentioned they'd be leaving the area because the father of her child had arrived to collect her."

"Why should I care about that?" Monroe asked. He tried to turn his head away to conceal any emotions he might be betraying.

Truman reached toward him and forced Monroe to look at him. "We know that Charlie Matheson was involved with your son at one point. There's some that seem to think her baby is your grandchild."

Monroe was unable to pull away from Truman, despite his best efforts. "If you say so," he said through clenched teeth.

"Personally? I don't believe it. What's interesting is we found another person that was 'convinced' to be forthcoming. And he swore that he saw someone matching your description passing through the next town over, headed directly towards Monroe, Louisiana. Kind of an obvious town name, don't you think?"

"A coincidence, I'm sure," Monroe spat at the man. He knew where this was going, and he was having trouble keeping his rage at bay.

"What I think is that baby is yours. Was it a boy or a girl?" He moved on when Monroe refused to answer. "I'm willing to make a deal with you." Truman shoved the paper in Monroe's line of sight. "Do you see the name on this? Charlotte Matheson. There's been a bounty out on her for a while now too, you know? Tell us where to find Miles and Rachel and the pardon will replace the bounty. Refuse and we'll triple the amount of the bounty and put one out on the baby too."

Monroe fought against his restraints. "You really are sick you know that? You'd better kill me now you bastard, because if you don't I swear I will find a way to take you down."

Truman reached into his jacket and handed an envelope to Baxter. Monroe watched as the man opened the letter and scanned its contents. "Don't worry, when we find the baby, we'll make sure it's raised in a God fearing Patriot household. He'll get to grow up being assured of how much of a bastard Sebastian Monroe was." He walked away then, confident for the first time since this ordeal had started.

Baxter whispered something to one of his assistants. The man disappeared for a few moments before he returned with a leather satchel. Baxter rifled through its contents and pulled out a syringe. Despite his struggling, Monroe could only watch as the needle was jabbed into his arm. The contents burned as it entered his bloodstream. They'd finally been ordered to drug him. This was the part he'd not been looking forward to.

In the Monroe Republic, they'd used drugs as a torture method with excellent results. This method had even gotten Nora Clayton to roll on Miles once. Beatings, waterboarding, starvation, those he could handle with ease. But drugs were different. They could be used indefinitely until he either talked or died.

_Another week has passed. Charlie is in the dairy, trying to keep her mind off of the grief. The twins will be one year old in a few short weeks, and he'll have missed it. Their babbles have turned into a few short words in the past few days as well. Something Monroe will never get to hear. She finishes with the daily milking with tears coursing down her face. _

_As she heads towards the house, Daniel meets her halfway. "There's someone here to see you. Says he knows you," he says cryptically. _

_Charlie looks at him in utter confusion. "Who?"_

_Daniel cracks a smile, the first one he's had in weeks. "He says he's found him." _

_Daniel doesn't have to say who "him" is. Charlie races towards the house. Inside, she heads towards the living room. Daniel would have brought any visitor in here. She stands in awe at the person waiting to greet her. She hears Daniel following her from behind. "Get Miles. Get Mom. Get everybody. We've got a rescue to plan." Charlie's tears of grief are replaced with tears of hope. _

Monroe had lost track of the days. After that first injection, he'd been shoved unceremoniously back into the empty room. Left to huddle on the cold concrete, his body was wracked in muscle spasms that he could not control. Every few hours, Baxter or Truman would come back into the room and question him again. When he refused to even speak, he was shot up with something else.

Under the effects of the drugs, he saw people he knew could not be there. Charlie, Miles, his parents, Ben. One by one they found their way into his cell, all asking him to just give Truman what he wanted. He responded with the only defense he had: he let himself go, slipping deep into his own head as the drugs took over. He constantly reminded himself that nothing he heard or saw was real, and then he filled his mind with thoughts of home, of his family.

When the drugs took him too far over, he'd be given another stimulant. In those times, he could not force himself to slip away. All he could do was lay there and hallucinate, repeating his mantra. "Not real, not real." A part of him knew that Baxter and Truman were getting desperate. They doses became larger, more frequent. Whatever they'd given him to cause his muscles to spasm was excruciating. When that was combined with the hallucinogens, he'd almost broken.

It was almost more than he could bear. After he'd come down from that horrible trip, Baxter had asked him one last time what he knew. "Where is Miles Matheson, and what is he planning? Who has he been working with?"

It crossed his mind that he'd never been asked this before. Something must have happened. The questions started getting more urgent. This was the one thing that strengthened his resolve when he'd almost lost it. They threatened him with another dose like the last, but he was able to rasp one last time, "Do it."

He was huddled in the corner. The pain and fear from the effect of the poisons coursing through his veins had taken back over.

_This was how they found him. Monroe is lost in his own head surrounded by a fog of terror, quivering as his muscles betray him. He tries to focus his thoughts on Charlie and their kids, but no matter how hard he tries, they keep slipping away. From far away he hears shouts and the sound of gunfire. _

_Is something happening? Is it only in his head? Suddenly there is silence. He feels cool and gentle hands glide over his body, pulling him from the corner. His eyes cannot focus on the face in front of him. The drugs are affecting the muscles in his eyes, and they jump around too much for him to see anything clearly. Someone is talking to him, but he cannot understand the words. He knows the voice though. _

"_You're not here. Not real," he whispers as his head lolls to the side. He is lifted and carried up the stairs and away from the compound. He thinks he hears a random gunshot or two, but can't be sure. He is placed in a wagon. Someone throws a blanket over his naked and battered body. _

_The drug that has caused him to lose control of his body is wearing off. The muscle spasms are slowing and he can move again just a little. The motion of the wagon moving makes him nauseous. He starts to gag, and someone holds a bucket out. He hasn't eaten in well over a week, so the only thing that comes out is bile. He dry heaves for a while before it subsides. _

_Under the blanket, he sits in the corner of the wagon, knees pulled up tight against his chest. He's pushing himself as far away from everyone as he can. "This isn't real. Not real…" _

"_What's wrong with him?" That voice. It only reaffirms to him that this can't be happening. His rescue is a figment of his imagination and the drugs. He's dreamt this more than once. It's got to be a dream again. That voice cannot possibly be ringing in his ears._

"_He's drugged," a voice replies. It's resemblance to Miles' voice is almost cruel._

_Charlie's face is now inches from his. He tries to pull away from the vision before him, but she takes his face in her gentle hands. "Hey. Look at me. It's me, I'm here." _

"_No, no, no… You can't be here. Charlie can't be here." He mumbles, still lost to the drugs and in his own head. "Charlie can't be here. They'll find her and hurt her. They'll use her to get to Miles and Rachel." _

Charlie starts to cry. "Not anymore. You're safe. They're gone," she croons. He slowly passes out once more…

**A/N: So I hope I didn't freak anyone out with this. This is probably the most angst I've ever written in one chapter before. At first I'd included a lot of other horrible things that the Patriots had done to him, but it started to feel a little excessive. I'm hoping that I've managed to convey the absolute misery he was without turning anyone off. Please let me know your thoughts. This chapter has made me a little anxious.**


	11. Oh! So THAT'S What That Part Was For!

**A/N: Sorry for the later update. Lots of work over the weekend. This one was a little hard to write because it is a lot of dialog. I tried my best to not beat everyone over the head with it, but it kind of had to happen. Not a lot of action can go on when you're protagonist is pretty much incapacitated physically. One thing that had always driven me nuts in the series is how someone will be on death's doorstep and then pow! Up and about in the blink of an eye (although I think that the timeline in the show was a lot slower than the writers mentioned). Because of this, I've decided that Monroe will need to heal at a little less exaggerated of a pace but at the same time, I've got to keep everything else moving too – so I decided to get a lot of the back and forth out of the way in one chapter. I hope you don't mind. PS: I've done my best to do edits, but if I'm ever going to get this up, it seems it's now or never and my kids have been playing pounce the laptop today… Sorry if I've missed stuff.**

Monroe's eyes fluttered open. The light streaming through the window was blinding, forcing him to turn his head away. It took several minutes for his blurry vision to clear enough to take in his surroundings. He was in his own bed, his own four walls around him. He tried to sit up, but his entire body seemed to protest. With a groan, he slumped back on the pillow.

He felt movement on the other side of the bed. He turned his head in that direction to see two muddy paws on the old bedspread. Moments later, Brodie had joined him on the bed. He pulled his body in a playful crouch, tail wagging madly. He let out a happy yip before he lunged and gave his master a lick on the cheek in greeting. Before Monroe had a chance to order the dog to get down, Brodie leaped to the ground and bounded out the door.

_I'm home_. He'd long since given hope of ever waking up in this room again. He tried to think back, remember how he'd gotten here, but his memory was fuzzy. He vaguely recalled the last time Baxter had come in to interrogate him. He'd been almost ready to finally give in. He hadn't been able to take it any longer. But the man's questions had become so urgent, it reminded him about why he'd been holding out so long in the first place, and somewhere he'd found the will to refuse them one last time. Then the last dose of drugs had come, wracking his body in those excruciating spasms and horrifying hallucinations.

The sounds of rapid gunfire, fading into silence, followed by voices, He remembered. Miles, Charlie, Gene and he was fairly sure that Rachel had been there as well. Was there someone else? He remembered another voice, but for the life of him couldn't remember who it had belonged too. A wagon? He remembered the feel of the wood beneath him as he looked up and watched the sky pass above him.

_They are traveling as fast as the wagon can accommodate. There is only room for two in the back with Monroe and two on the bench. The others have stayed behind to mop up the mess that is the Patriot compound, Aaron and Priscilla included. While they were securing Monroe in the wagon and trying to get him stabilized, a rider had gone out ahead of them. They were five days from home under normal traveling conditions. He won't last that long. The rider will arrange for a change of horses tomorrow and messages will be delivered further down their route as well. They will not stop unless absolutely necessary. _

_Gene is worried about his condition. He has obviously been beaten multiple times; Monroe is covered in bruises. He likely has a few cracked ribs. Hopefully there has been no damage to any internal organs, but only time will tell on that. Gene is fully aware of some of the tactics that the Patriots use to extract information. At one point he'd been an unwilling participant in such "negotiations". He is delirious as well. Gene is vaguely familiar with the various drugs they use as well. The fact that Monroe is clearly suffering from severe dehydration is likely adding to his deteriorated mental state. _

_Avery's men found some crude medical supplies. A raid of the Patriot's food stores had provided them with salt and sugar. They need to get fluids in him. As the wagon races towards home, Gene does his best to measure and mix a crude solution to get his body back in balance. Charlie helps to raise him enough to force some of the liquid down his throat. He tries to struggle, but at this point, he is only able to move his head from side to side. A few minutes after they've done, he starts to gag. They force him into a sitting position as most of that they've given him comes back up. _

_This goes on for hours. It is disgusting work, but if they can't get him rehydrated he will die long before they reach home. Gene has witnessed their torture sessions enough to know what condition their captives are kept in. They are normally better tended to. Either he'd been ready to crack, so they didn't feel the need to keep him alive much longer or they were about ready to give up. Either way, if they had been even a day or two later it would have been too late – they still might be. _

_By the time they change horses for the first time, he's stopped throwing up the fluids. This gives them some reason to hope. The second day he spends mostly unconscious. Gene and Charlie have managed to get a few hours of rest in the back of the wagon. They switch places. Miles and Rachel will tend to Monroe and rest while Charlie and her grandfather push on. _

_Rachel is trying to get him to drink again. He starts to talk. "Please… No more…" Miles is sitting behind him, propping him up so he doesn't choke when Rachel holds the canteen to his lips. He's damn near holding Monroe in a bear hug, trying to help keep him still._

"_Bass, you have to drink. If you don't then you'll die," Miles tells him firmly. _

_He doesn't recognize the voice as belonging to Miles. In his head, it's Baxter and he's forcing some noxious liquid down his throat. "Please… I can't tell you where Miles and Rachel are. I don't know who they're helping. No more drugs… Please just kill me."_

_Miles and Rachel lock eyes. The Patriots have done this because of them? Charlie turns from her place next to Gene and looks down at him. She's just heard Monroe begging to die. She tries to fight back her tears. What have they done to him? This is her fault. She lost the trail. If she'd only been able to find it, they would have saved him two weeks of torture._

"_Bass, listen to me," Rachel chokes out. "The Patriots are gone. There's no more drugs."_

_Somewhere in the web of delusions that the drugs and dehydration have spun around him, he hears her voice. There were no women in his month of hell – no feminine voices for his mind to equate with someone else. "Rachel?"_

"_Yeah. It's Rachel. We're taking you home. Please drink." Her own guilt has her crying now. After all these years, despite everything that has happened – Miles trying to kill him, Bass trying to kill her, Her trying to kill Bass – he still tried to protect them. Why? _

"_I – I didn't tell them. I didn't break," he stammers, like he's desperate for her to believe him. He's getting agitated. _

"_I know you didn't. You did good, Bass. Now please drink," she tries to calm him down. She raises the canteen to his lips one more time. This time, he complies. A few minutes later, he's drifting back under again._

Brodie returned to the room. He stood at the end of the bed, barking excitedly. The sound was harsh in Monroe's ears, exacerbating the dull and steady throbbing in his head. However he almost welcomed it. If he was in pain it meant he was alive. Miles poked his head into the room. "Bass?" He entered the room, not quite sure what to expect. Seeing that Monroe was fully alert, he crept into the room. Someone had drug the rocking chair out of the nursery and placed it by Monroe's side of the bed. Miles took a seat and leaned forward. "Hey, buddy." A wave of déjà vu washed over Miles. This was the third time that they'd found themselves in this position. "We've gotta stop doing this. I'm starting to wonder if you just like all the attention."

_Dick_, Monroe thought. Well if that's how he was going to be… "Where am I?"

This caught Miles' attention. "You're home, Bass. On the farm."

"Who are you? How do you know my name?" Sometimes Monroe really couldn't help himself.

Miles' jaw dropped. "Oh no," he said under his breath. He jumped out of the chair and went to go find Gene. Rachel's father had warned that the condition they'd found him in could have lasting effects. He was almost out the door when he heard a quiet snicker from behind him.

He turned to see Monroe with a shit eating grin on his face. "Sit down, you idiot. I was just fucking with you," he rasped.

Miles didn't know whether to be pissed or happy. He sank back into the chair. "You are such a prick, you know that?"

"You love me for it, admit it." He started to laugh quietly. The movement hurt. Biting back a groan, he closed his eyes and waited for the pain to subside a little.

Miles rolled his eyes at his friend. "Serves you right."

Eyes still closed, a smile broke back out on Monroe's face. "Totally worth it." He was silent for several minutes. Miles was almost convinced that he'd fallen back asleep when he turned his head back towards him and spoke again. "So out of everyone that lives in this house, why is your ugly frown face the first one I've gotta see?"

Miles laughed now. He translated this as Bass-Speak for 'Where's Charlie?' "Glad you're happy to see me, asshole. Charlie and Daniel rode out the Carter's to collect your kids."

Monroe furrowed his brow, trying to remember if he'd known they weren't here. "Why are they there?"

"Because everybody went to go rescue your sorry ass. Well, everyone but Daniel. Someone had to hold down the fort. We just got you home last night," Miles explained. "Listen, Gene's gonna want to check you out. I'll be right back, okay?"

Monroe nodded and watched Miles leave the room. While he was gone, Brodie took this as a cue and jumped back down on the bed. He lay down next to Monroe and sniffed at his hand. He tried to reach out and pet the dog, but the movement hurt too much. "You're going to be in trouble when Charlie gets home. Big trouble."

Gene and Miles walked into the room to see Brodie happily stretched out on the bed and Monroe half-heartedly telling him to get down. "I think she'll give him a pass just this once," Miles said as he leaned up against the wall while Gene set his bag down on the dresser and started to pull things out of it.

As Monroe's eyes landed on the leather satchel, the room suddenly faded. He was back in the tent, watching Baxter reach into a very similar bag and pull out a syringe. Miles noticed the way Monroe's eyes grew wide before glazing over. A sweat broke out on his forehead and his breath had quickened. Miles had been in the Marines long enough to see signs of PTSD when he saw it. Something Gene was doing had triggered it. He moved to put himself between the bed and Gene.

"Bass!" He said sharply. "Bass? Hey. Look at me."

Monroe blinked a few times and snapped back to reality. _What just happened?_ He asked himself. Sensing something was wrong, Brodie started to whine. He started to lick the back of Monroe's hand as if to comfort him. Monroe closed his eyes and concentrated on slowing his breathing. When he opened them again, Gene had finished and was sitting in the rocking chair, writing furiously in his precious little notebook. Monroe hated that fucking notebook.

Miles had figured out that the bag was the trigger. He casually backed up to the dresser and grabbed it from behind. The feigned nonchalance as he backed up to the door to toss it out of the room almost made Monroe laugh. The look of concern on Miles' face didn't leave, and he found it mortifying. General Monroe – leader of one of the most vicious armies that the continent had ever seen had freaked out over the sight of a man-purse. He turned his head and focused his sight on the dog.

Gene quietly went about taking Monroe's vitals. The attack hadn't really surprised him. As a doctor, he knew that something as traumatic as torture was bound to have psychological effects. Maybe they'd pass… Then again, maybe not. Monroe may have been getting better over the past year and a half, but the fact was he was still a broken man. He made a mental note to keep a close eye on him.

The attack had ruined the good mood Monroe had woken with. He clammed up and waited for Gene to finish. Right now, he just wanted to be alone to process what had just happened. As soon as the exam was over, Gene collected his things and left the room, stopping in the hallway to pick up his discarded bag. Miles edged his way towards the door as well. "Bass, you know what that was. You had the same training I did. We were both taught to recognize the signs."

Monroe refused to look at him. "Miles, just leave it."

Miles tried one more time. "You're going to have to talk about what they did."

"They didn't do anything I haven't done or ordered done to someone else. Nothing I didn't deserve," He said quietly.

Miles gave up and turned to leave, almost bumping into Rachel on his way out the door. She carried a tray with a bowl of stew. Miles shook his head, trying to get her to take the hint that this was not a good time, but Rachel gave him her most annoyed 'don't fuck with me' look. With one last glance at Monroe, he left the room.

The sound of the tray being set on the nightstand got his attention. "Come to finish the job?" he asked weakly.

Rachel ignored the barb. "You need to eat something." She reached over him to grab Charlie's pillow from the other side of the bed and used it to help prop him up. She noticed the way he grimaced when he leaned back against the pillows.

"I'm not hungry," he snapped. He was in pain and tired and feeling decidedly vulnerable. She was the last person he wanted around him at this point.

Rachel refused to let him piss her off. "Too bad. You're going to eat anyway." She picked up the bowl and spoon.

Monroe realized what she was intending to do. "Seriously? I'm a grown man. I can feed myself."

Rachel shot him an annoyed look. She set the bowl back down and set the tray over his lap. "Fine. Pick up the spoon, Bass."

It took a concentrated effort and no little pain but he reached out and picked it up. The shaking in his hand made it obvious to both of them that there was no way in hell he was going to be able to do this on his own. Humiliated he let go and the spoon fall to the tray with a quiet clatter. His eyes welled with tears of embarrassment. He ignored this and gestured towards the bowl for her to proceed. "I swear if you start making train or airplane sounds I'll kill you."

"Because a sword is so much easier to lift than a spoon," she scoffed. Having proven her point Rachel went about the task of getting food in him.

"I hate you," he told her in between bites.

The words had no heat behind them; she rolled her eyes and tried to go about things as casually as possible. "Not for this, you don't." She proceeded in silence for a while. "I'm sorry for going after you the night you left."

He just stared at her. An apology from Rachel Matheson was about as rare of an occurrence as an apology from him. "Do we have to have a moment here? This is humiliating enough." Rachel looked hurt. "I get it. You'll never forgive me for the things I've done. For the Republic, Ben, Danny – and you probably shouldn't. That night of my so-called execution, I meant it when I said I was sorry. I never meant for any of that to happen."

"Bass –"

"No, let me finish," he interrupted. "We both love the same people. Can't we just call a truce for their sakes? I don't want to fight with you anymore."

Rachel's mouth formed a thin line as she thought about what he'd said. The bowl was now empty. She set it aside and handed him a dishrag, letting save some dignity by wiping his own mouth. "You're right. I'll never forgive you for Danny. He was my baby, and he's gone." He'd heard these words from her before, many times. This time, however there was no hatred in her voice. "I wish I could forgive you. It would be so much easier. But I won't attack you for it any longer. You're right. All we're going to do is tear apart the people we care about. If I hadn't pushed you, maybe this wouldn't have happened. You wouldn't have been alone when the Patriots showed up."

The only good thing he thought that had come out of his ordeal was the fact that he'd been alone. If Aaron had gone with him, they still may very well have been captured. But Monroe knew he was by far better equipped to deal with it than Aaron would have been. Aaron would have been killed, or worse – forced to talk. "It would have been worse otherwise, and you know it."

"Aaron certainly doesn't see it that way. When he and Priscilla get back with the others, you might want to talk to him about that. He took it hard. _All _of us did," Rachel argued as she stood up to help him lay back down again. "When Charlie gets back, I'll have her bring you something else to eat."

"Trying to fatten me up?" He said lightly.

Rachel went to retrieve the tray. "You should see yourself. You look skinny." He shot her a dirty look. As she walked out the door, she turned one last time. "You didn't deserve it, by the way – what they did."

She left him to ponder those words. The sensation of having finally eaten took the last bit of energy from him. Monroe closed his eyes to wait for Charlie to come back. He'd so far spent the past few hours with her entire family. All he wanted now was to see her and the kids. He fell asleep hoping she'd hurry up and get back.

_They are now only twenty miles or so from Providence. They've stopped again to change horses one last time. Gene has finally proclaimed that Monroe is, for the time being stable. They've all been working on almost no sleep for days and are running on empty. Monroe will need a great deal of care in the days to come. Miles makes the decision to stop for a few hours. Even taking shifts driving and riding in the back they've only managed to snag an hour or two of sleep here and there. _

_Without further ado, the bedrolls are pulled out. They eat a hasty meal, provided by their new friends, who had been waiting for them. These men will watch over for a while. It is not long until Charlie's family is now asleep around a small campfire. It is easier to leave Monroe in the wagon. Charlie elects to stay by his side. The clothing they've managed to get on him will not provide much protection from the early November chill that sets in. _

_She lies down next to him and draws the blanket from her bedroll over them both. He's been shivering in his sleep, and she's hoping her proximity will help keep him warmer. The last thing he needs right now is to catch a chill on top of everything else. She slowly starts to doze off, but is pulled from sleep by the sound of him rousing next to her. _

_She sits up and tries to calm him. His eyes are open just a little, and she can tell that he's really seeing her for the first time since they've found him. "Charlie?" She's been waiting for him to truly wake up for days, and now that he has, she can't make her mouth work. She just smiles down at him and strokes his hair._

"_Please say something, so I know you're not in my head." His words are slurred and raspy. He's awake, but hasn't fully come to his senses. The drugs are slowly working their way out of his system, but he's not himself yet._

"_Yeah, it's me. I'm here," She tells him as she lies back down next to him, reaching for his hand._

_Monroe squeezes her hand, reassuring himself that she's really there. "I dreamed of you," he whispers. "Every day. I wanted to see you one last time so badly."_

_She leans down and kisses his dry, chapped lips. "I'm so sorry," she tells him, now starting to cry._

"_Please don't. Not your fault." He squeezes her hand again. He wants so much to hold her but he can't force his body to cooperate, so he settles for that. His own eyes are tearing up now. "I'm sorry I didn't make it home."_

"_Shhh… We're almost there. We'll be there tomorrow. We just stopped to rest for a few hours." Charlie curls up as close to him as she can without hurting him. "Go to sleep." His eyes close as he goes back under. _

_He will not wake up again before they get home. As the drugs fully wear off, he will finally get real sleep for the first time in weeks. They will rouse him just enough to keep getting fluids in him so that his body can recover and heal. _

Monroe woke up to the sounds of giggling and running in the hallway. As he turned his head, the door opened and two happy toddlers came scrambling into the room followed by their mother. Angie stood by the side of the bed with her arms raised high. "Up, up," she squealed. Monroe's first instinct was to comply, but as he tried to move he was reminded that he was still too weak to do anything. Charlie rushed over and picked Angie up, hovering her over her father so she could give him a sloppy kiss. "Daddy! Daddy-daddy-daddy-daddy!"

Charlie and Monroe both chuckled at her ramblings. "Yeah, Angie. There's Daddy." Charlie set Angie on the other side of him. The little girl began to roll around the bed in glee. Danny was standing on his tip toes at the side of the bed feeling decidedly left out. "Poor Danny. Wanna give Daddy a love?" Charlie picked him up and not to be outdone by his sister he gave Monroe a wet kiss of his own.

Danny scrambled out of his mother's arms and threw himself on top of his father. Monroe winced and let a groan escape as twenty pounds of squirming giggles pounced on him. Charlie reached out to grab him. "No, it's okay," Monroe stopped her. He smiled at the twins as they jumped and climbed all over him. Angie finally settled herself in the crook of his arm, still babbling "Daddy-daddy-daddy," over and over again as she played with her toes.

Charlie sat in the rocking chair and watched them together for quite a while. Her mom had already told her that he'd managed to eat something, and from what her grandfather said, he seemed to be well on the mend. It would just take time for him to get his strength back. Whatever drugs they'd given him had cause extremely violent muscle spasms. He'd be very sorry for a while just from that. She'd also been clued into the fact that he might suffer flashbacks and god knows what else, so she shouldn't let him overdo it. With that in mind, she let the twins crawl on him for a bit longer before she plucked them up. "Okay, that's enough you two. Daddy needs to rest."

She returned a few minutes later, having successfully pawned them off on Miles and Rachel. She went to sit back down, but he stopped her. "Lie down with me a while," he all but begged. Charlie did her best to ignore the dirty paw prints on the bed spread as she kicked off her shoes and pulled the blankets back to join him. She laid her head down on her pillow and stared into his eyes. He looked so tired. "Come here," he sighed.

She scooted over closer to him, laying her head on his chest. He grunted a little in pain, but tightened his arm around her all the same. It was worth it. "I thought I'd never see you again," Charlie said quietly. She kept trying to convince herself that she's done crying but it had been a long and emotional five weeks.

"Don't cry. You found me. That's all that matters," he told her gently.

His words only served to make her cry harder. "No, I didn't. I lost the trail. It rained and I couldn't find it again. We kept trying for another week, but we didn't think there was any way you were still alive." She wiped her eyes and tried to calm herself down. "I'm so sorry I gave up. I should have kept looking."

"No. I sent that patch with Brodie because so you knew I didn't leave you. I never meant for you to come find me. I was shot and I the horse was hurt. I knew I was as good as dead." The last thing Monroe wanted was to make her feel guilty. "How did you find me then?"

Much to Monroe's surprise, Charlie evaded the question. "We had help."

"Who?"

Charlie shook her head. "A lot has happened in the last two weeks. We've made some new friends," she said vaguely. When he opened his mouth to question her further, she stopped him. "I promise to explain everything in a couple of days. Our resistance has gotten a whole lot bigger – Kentucky won't be so easy for them to take now. They are stripping the Patriot's compound now. When they're done everyone will be back, and you can see for yourself."

He still wanted to protest, but knew it wouldn't do much good. "Okay," he finally relented.

"Just focus on getting better, Bass." She was practically pleading.

"Alright," he said as he closed his eyes. He thought back to the afternoon before she went into labor with the twins. She'd laid there and demanded that he take a nap with her. It was long since time she returned the favor. "You know, that's the first time I think you've ever called me by my actual name," he told her.

Charlie looked up at him. "Really? I hadn't realized." She thought back. No, she usually always just called him Monroe.

He kissed her on the temple. "Sounds almost weird coming from you now," he mused.

"Just shut up and go to sleep, dummy" She tried to hide her smile.

Monroe chuckled. "Now that sounds more normal."


	12. Nobody Move! I dropped a screw!

**A/N: Sorry for the delay. I had to re-write the last half of this like four times before I was happy with it. It kept ended up being like 5k words of dialog. I instead half-assed it with another flashback… More notes at the end. (P.S. I wanted to get this up before work, so I'm sorry if there are any errors…)**

Despite Monroe's best efforts to put the past five weeks behind him, his body just couldn't accommodate him. Gene had warned him from the get go that it would take time to build his strength back up due to the deplorable condition they'd found him in. It had been mentioned more than once that Monroe should consider himself lucky to even be alive and that he needed to take his recovery – and Gene's orders seriously.

It was bad enough being stuck in bed and feeling like shit. But it seemed that every time he looked up someone was shoving food in his face (and reminding him that he'd lost some weight) or popping their head in to check on him, or asking him how he was feeling.

_Miles stops to see him on his way down the hall. He's been doing this every half hour or so – as if he didn't have some work to do somewhere. Monroe had just woken up the previous morning. Monroe wonders if in that time Miles has worn a canyon into that damn hallway. "Hey buddy, hanging in there?" Miles says. "Need anything?"_

_It wouldn't be so annoying, but Rachel has just checked on him three times in the past hour as well, and Gene has been in the room twice today. He's surprised they aren't all bumping into each other face first in their efforts to baby him. Charlie is busy, but has made an effort to bring the kids for a short visit (okay, he hadn't minded that so much – just the way she hovered to make sure he didn't suffer an untimely death by toddler). The only person that hasn't made him feel awkward was Daniel. The old didn't even enter into the room. Just stopped in the hallway outside the door and mumbled something about slackers and taking naps. That at least had made him laugh (which hurts a little still)._

"_I'm fine, Miles. I'm sure you have better things to do than pester me all day." Monroe tries to be nice about it, but his patience is wearing thin. _

"_Are you sure? 'Cause I could –" _

_Monroe finally has had enough. "For fuck's sake, Miles. I'm not a goddamn invalid. Go find something to do, and leave me the hell alone!"_

Since he'd first followed Charlie from the Plains Nation to Willoughby he'd been buried under six feet of dirt, drugged to the point of looking dead and then later almost blown halfway to kingdom come and left with a traumatic brain injury. Even those two instances combined hadn't resulted in the hovering they'd done in just the first two days since his rescue.

And, if they weren't babying him, they were tiptoeing around him, as if everything they said or did could send him into having an "episode."

_He's been home for three days. The twins have already been put to bed. Charlie has decided that he needs to be cleaned up a bit – meaning he needs a haircut and a shave. Monroe agrees more to placate her than anything. Besides, his beard is much longer than he finds comfortable. It's back to the length it was when they were endlessly on the run in Texas. He prefers a cleaner goatee. If he only shaves the rest of it once a week or so, well Charlie thinks the scruff is kind of hot, so it gives him an excuse to be lazy. But this is too much and it itches like crazy._

_He is sitting in the rocking chair. Charlie has already trimmed his hair so it's not such an unruly mess. Now she's getting ready to shave him. As she gets the soap to lather, she innocently comments on how her step-mom Maggie used to perform this same task for her father. She sounds happy as she recalls the memory._

_She checks the blade on the straight razor to make sure it's sharp. "Crap, forgot the water," she says. Charlie steps out of the room for just a few minutes, returning with the water she's had warming on the stove. Normally, he just lathers and shaves, but it's long enough that it's too coarse. She places a warm, wet towel on his neck and jaw to soften the hair._

_The second the material touches his face, he's suddenly transported to another place in his mind – one where a wet towel is not just the innocent first step in shaving. Before Charlie can even pick up the shaving soap, he abruptly sits up and flings the towel away, breathing heavily. He stammers some excuse or another – he's not even sure of what he tells her._

_Of course, she isn't buying it. They both know exactly what has happened. He concentrates on is breathing again, waiting until he's calmed down enough to speak. Charlie is watching him with concern. "I'm fine. Look, you've been waiting on me hand and foot all day. Go relax for a while. I'll do it, okay?"_

_Charlie hesitates for a few seconds. She knows that this is difficult for him and that he's embarrassed over the incident. She leans over and kisses him lightly before she goes about setting everything within his reach on the nightstand. She disappears for a couple of minutes, returning with a small stand up mirror so he can see what he's doing. After giving him a gentle squeeze on the shoulder, she leaves the room, quietly closing the door behind her. _

_Monroe just stares at his face in the mirror for a long time. He really does look like shit and is starting to look a bit closer to his age (not quite, but enough to be annoyed and depressed about it). He spreads the soap in his face and slowly works the blade over his skin. Charlie returns a little while later to collect the water, soap and razor. If she notices that he's nicked himself a few times with his still unsteady hands, she's courteous enough not to mention it._

The morning after the shaving incident, Charlie had left him to his own devices rather early. He was fine with it. Even boredom was better than being watched like he was going off the deep end. Monroe knew she was just worried and it he felt a bit guilty for not appreciating it more – if she didn't love him, she wouldn't have been so concerned. Still, it wasn't helping him get past it all. He needed something to do, not constant reminders of what he went through.

He was just finishing up breakfast when Daniel shuffled into the room, not bothering to knock. Under his arm were several leather bound volumes. The old man sank himself into the rocking chair with an exaggerated sigh. "Need to get Sam Graves in town to make me a few more of these for the porch. Nothin' like a good rocker," he comments idly.

For the most part, Daniel has stayed away. Monroe knows it isn't a lack of caring. It's just his way. Daniel has to know that Monroe had enough people buzzing around him with concern as it was. "What's new old man?"

"Damn goat got out again yesterday. Had me a fine time watching your friend Miles chase it around like an idiot," He cackles.

Monroe couldn't help but laugh. So that's what earned him a reprieve from Miles' pestering the previous afternoon. "Sorry I missed it. At least now he understands why I hate that stupid animal." Monroe briefly wondered if Daniel hadn't had something to do with Dickhead's most recent attempt at freedom. "So what's with the paperwork," he asked, gesturing at the ledgers that Daniel had set down on the nightstand.

"Maybe I'm just getting to old for this shit, but I can't seem to get these damn things to balance this month." Daniel picked up the one on top and handed it over.

Monroe took the ledger and opened it up. "Okay. I guess I could take a look." Daniel normally kept meticulous records on everything. Food stores, feed, animals, funds. At any given moment he knew exactly what the farm had on hand, right down to every last wedge of cheese.

Daniel had insisted a few months ago that Monroe take a look every now and then, just so he could learn the system that he used. The numbers in front of Monroe looked like they were in Daniel's handwriting, but the similarity to his work ended there. "Holy hell, Daniel. What did you do? Let Miles get ahold of these or something?

Daniel shrugged innocently. "I might have had one too many when I did them last month. Stressful time, you know. Mind earning your keep and fixing them?"

It wasn't like Monroe had anything else to do, so he'd agreed to work on it. For the most part, there were just minor mathematical errors or places where Daniel must have misread a number. Each of these added up to create one giant mess. He was so engrossed in what he was doing that he didn't even notice Charlie stopping by to collect the remnants of his breakfast on her way out to the dairy.

Later when she was finished with her work, she ran in to Daniel on her way back to the house. "Why is Monroe redoing all of your books?" she asked.

Daniel spoke low as they were headed inside together. "I might have made a few mistakes. I'm a bit busy overseein' his chores for the time being. Might as well keep him occupied."

Charlie realized then what he'd done. "Thank you."

Daniel stopped for a second. "Man's got more than his share of pride, girl. You might remember that. Hard enough having your body all broke down – take it from an old man who knows a thing or two about it. It's even worse if everyone acts like you're made of glass."

Charlie stood there in the yard and watched Daniel hobble out of sight. The crusty old farmer never ceased to amaze her. Later when she'd brought Monroe something to eat for supper, she found him fully dressed for the first time since he'd been back. He was seated in the rocking chair with his feet propped up on the bed and one of the heavy ledgers in his lap. Every so often he'd scratch out a set of numbers and replace it with new ones. The small eraser he'd started with had long since worn away. "Still working on that?" She asked.

He looked up from the pages. "Yeah. I might have been annoyed at him for fucking these up on purpose if I hadn't found an actual honest mistake too."

"How did you figure it out" She asked with a laugh as she set the tray down on the dresser.

He had just finished tallying a column of numbers. Setting the pencil inside to mark his place, he slapped the ledger shut. "Really? No one is this bad at basic math. I take that back – Miles is even worse." He set the ledger aside and took his feet off the bed before she bitched at him for it. He started to rub his neck where it had become stiff from leaning over the ledgers all day.

"So you going to tell him he's busted?" She asked as she crossed the room to stand behind him.

Monroe thought about it for a second. It really had been a strangely sweet gesture. "Nah. He was just trying to give me something to do so I wouldn't go nuts with boredom."

Charlie brushed his hand out of the way and took over kneading the knot in his neck. He let out a satisfied moan in response. "Feel good?" She couldn't help but last.

"Nope. Not at all. You've got ten years to stop doing that," he said with one of the first smiles she'd seen in days.

She massaged his neck for a few more minutes before stopping, placing a kiss where her hands had been, she turned to grab the tray from where she'd left it. He took Charlie by surprise when he suddenly pulled her into his lap. Her initial reaction was to stop him and remind him that less than a week ago he'd been found on death's doorstep, but she remembered what Daniel had said. She settled herself against his chest instead. It really had been a long time since he'd held her like this. "I take it someone's feeling a little better?"

Monroe started to kiss her behind her ear. Charlie closed her eyes and gave over to the sensation. He always seemed to know just the right places to touch and kiss her. _Fuck it_, she thought to herself. She slid off his lap and sat down on the bed. She could see the disappointment in his eyes. With a challenging smirk, she kicked her shoes off and stretched out on the bed.

Monroe took the hint. They laid on their sides facing one another. As soon as he joined her, Charlie pressed her lips to his. They spent a long time just exploring each other's mouths. He brought his hands up and cupped her face. "God, I missed this," he whispered against her lips as he plunged in to taste her. Charlie tugged at his shirt and pulled it off of him. His bruises were fading. She was reluctant to touch him at first. "I promise I won't break."

Charlie rested her hands on his chest. Despite the lost weight, his muscles were still firm beneath her touch. He started working on the buttons to the flannel shirt she wore. When he reached the last button, he slowly slid the material off her shoulders. Impatient, she wiggled out of it and tossed the shirt behind her; her bra did not last much longer. He cupped and kneaded her breasts, stroking her hardening nipples with his thumbs. This never ceased to drive her wild.

Charlie's hand flew to his zipper. It had been so long since they'd had this that she'd given up any pretense of taking her time. Finally getting his pants undone after fumbling with his zipper, she reached in and wrapped her hand around him. He was hard and eager for her touch. "Goddamn," he groaned as she ran her hand up and down his erection. He undid her jeans and yanked them town. His fingers found her center. She made mewling sounds in the back of her throat as he stroked her there. Fully aroused, she kicked her jeans completely off. "Eager?" he asked with a chuckled.

"Maybe," she panted with a smile as she used her feet to edge his pants further down, freeing him. She wrapped one leg around his hips to open herself for him. They remained on their sides due to Monroe's injuries. The position added to the intimacy of the moment when he entered her. They made love slowly, clinging to one another; his tongue delving into her mouth. Charlie arched her back, pressing her breasts into his chest.

As they both found themselves coming closer, she managed to find a moment of rational thought. "We should start being careful," she said in between kisses. "If we don't, we could wind up in trouble again," she reminded him.

He was fighting to keep himself under control. That warning did ring in his mind, sobering him for about two seconds when he realized that he didn't care. He didn't want to stop. "Would it bother you all that much?" he asked her, panting.

Charlie realized what he was asking her. She surprised herself with her answer. "No," she whispered as she claimed his lips and let herself go. A few minutes later she began to come apart, convulsing around him as she called out his name. Monroe's thrusts became more urgent. She gripped him tightly in the aftershock of her own orgasm when he stilled with one last thrust and spilled himself inside her depths.

In the aftermath, they laid there together as Monroe kissed her lazily. Slowly, their hearts stopped pounding and they caught their breaths. Charlie started to get stiff so she lowered her leg, effectively forcing him to withdraw from her. Reluctantly, Charlie rolled away and out of the bed. "And where do you think you're going?" He asked, watching her from under his lashes.

"I'm going to get our kids ready for bed," she said as she pulled herself into her jeans. "And you are going to eat your dinner, which is probably very cold by now." Charlie stumbled around the room looking for the rest of her clothes. Once dressed, she headed for the door.

"If you're going for the 'I'm pretending I wasn't getting laid' look, you might want to fix your hair," Monroe called out, stopping her. Charlie blushed as she ran her fingers through her locks in a vain attempt to untangle them. He laughed from his vantage point on the bed. Giving up, Charlie rolled her eyes at him before disappearing.

Monroe caught himself dozing off so he forced himself up and found his pants before he hobbled over to the dresser to retrieve his dinner. It was indeed cold. Having been prepared by Rachel, it wasn't like it had been that good in the first place. He never understood how a woman that was smart enough to destroy the world could be so incompetent when it came to cooking a basic meal.

He was just settling back down with the ledgers when the door opened. Danny and Angie raced in, now ready for bed and happy to see him. Charlie watched with a smile on her face as he let them climb all over him and did his absolute best to rile them up (of course). "I swear, you are such a big kid," she accused lightheartedly as she went to put the madness he was creating to an end.

When Charlie came back after getting them to sleep, Monroe was already waiting for her in bed. She quickly undressed and extinguished the lamps before joining him. The moment she crawled into bed, he pulled her to him.

The next morning, Monroe woke up to find her already gone. By the sounds coming from down the hall, it couldn't have been that late. He stretched out, wincing as some of his sorer muscles protested. It was possible they went a little overboard the previous night, not that he was going to complain. He crawled out of bed and went searching for clothes. He was determined to escape confinement today or die trying. He was in too good of a mood this morning to let anyone stop him.

_She settles her back against his chest. It has been so long since he's held her like this at night. She's missed this more than anything. She'd gotten so used to it that when he was gone, she never seemed to be able to get comfortable._

_Monroe remains awake for a while, trying to work up the nerve to say what is on his mind. "Still awake?" he asks her softly._

"_Nope," Charlie sighs happily. "Fast asleep, out like a light, dead to the world."_

"_Liar." He kisses the back of her neck._

_Charlie turns in his arms and looks at him sleepily. "I would be asleep if you would stop talking."_

"_Listen Charlie," he hesitates. Taking a deep breath, he starts again. "I wanted to-"_

"_Yeah?" she is starting to get a little worried. He's suddenly very tense._

"_I, uh – dammit." The way she is furrowing her brows in confusion and worry is only making this harder on him. "God, I am such a tool," he mutters. Still, he can't help but laugh at himself. "I suck at this."_

_Charlie starts to take pity on him. He really has suddenly turned into a bundle of nerves. "Whatever it is, just say it," she says gently._

_He braces himself. "I'm not doing this very well." Charlie gives him a look that clearly shows that she concurs. "Marry me," he finally blurts out._

_She blinks in surprise. That was what he's been trying to say this whole time? "The whole town already thinks we are." In other words, they're as good as married now._

_No, that wasn't anti-climactic at all. "I mean for real. Our real names, officially. Be my wife," he elaborates._

_Charlie smiles at him. "Of course. Yes, I will marry you." Their lips meet. "And yes, you are a tool and you suck at proposing."_

_Monroe shakes his head at her. "Thanks a lot." He rolls her off of him and leans over, reaching for the nightstand. "Hold that thought." He rummages through the junk he keeps in the drawer (much to her irritation). Finding what he's looking for he rolls back over to her. In his hand he holds a small leather pouch. He unties the string at the top and turns it over. A thin gold band with a small diamond falls out._

"_Where did you get that?" she asks, astounded._

"_I'd been working up to asking you before all hell broke loose. I couldn't very well get it in town – enough people still think we're already married. I had Avery get it when he went to Somerset a few months ago." Monroe slips the ring on her finger. _

_She reaches over and lights the lamp on her own bedside table so she can see it better. "How did you know it would fit?"_

_He tips her chin up and gives her a lingering kiss. "You're a very heavy sleeper, and I'm just that good."_

Monroe was almost done lacing his boots when Miles poked his head in the room. It was almost breakfast, so it was time for his daily morning pester. "What are you doing?" he asked sharply. He did not like what this implied about Monroe's intentions.

"I'm getting dressed," Monroe shot back. "And then I'm leaving this room."

Miles leaned up against the door frame. "Oh no you don't. You trying to get me in trouble here?"

Monroe stood up and walked over to the door, determined. "Move," he challenged.

Miles responded by crossing his arms over his chest. "Not a chance, pal. Gene said at least a week."

"And Gene can kiss my ass," Monroe replied. He was not willing to back down. If he was well enough to get laid, he was well enough to eat breakfast at the table like a normal person.

Miles was just as stubborn. "Not happening, Bass."

Monroe raised a brow at him. "Oh, you'll move. Because if you don't, I'll climb out the window the second your back is turned. I will probably hurt myself doing it. Then you really will get in trouble." As he waited to see if Miles would call his bluff, Monroe did his best to ignore the fact that he was already starting to feel a little unsteady on his feet.

Miles stared him down, trying to strengthen his resolve, but they both knew he'd cave. With an exaggerated sigh, he moved out of the way so Monroe could leave. He stayed right behind his friend, just to make sure he made it down the hall in one piece. This obviously irritated Monroe, but as far as Miles was concerned, he could go to hell.

The journey to the kitchen took a lot out of him but Monroe considered it a minor victory. Rachel was still making breakfast. The second she saw the both of them, she shot miles a deadly look. "Now see what you've done," Miles said under his breath. He knew he was going to hear it later.

With an exasperated sigh, Rachel set a cup of coffee down in front of Monroe. He took a sip, frowning. "Aaron puts whiskey in it," he pouted.

"Too bad. Aaron's still not back yet," she snapped. "And you should still be in bed."

Monroe ignored her. "So where are the others anyway?" he asked Miles.

Miles looked at him sideways. He still found it bizarre that the two men had become friends. "Half the group came in last night. The others should be back today or tomorrow. Missing your new shadow?"

Monroe laughed a little. _Jealous much? _"Maybe a little. At least he's not afraid to drink with me. Then again that's probably because Priscilla doesn't bitch about it when he does." He looked to see if Rachel was actually listening. "That, and Priscilla can actually cook."

That earned him a burnt biscuit to the back of the head. "Ow! You could hurt someone with those things. Or kill them if they tried to eat one." Another one hit him in the shoulders.

Charlie stepped into the kitchen with a squirming child under each arm. "What is going on here?"

Monroe looked up at his bride to be, smiling. "Your mother is trying to kill me with her cooking." He was pegged again. "Okay, that one actually hurt," he whined. "See, now I really do need that whiskey."

Rachel looked pissed. She stomped over to the pantry and pulled out a bottle of bourbon. "Fine, the two of you want to drink yourselves stupid? Be my guest." She slammed the bottle down on the table.

Monroe picked it up and nonchalantly added some to his coffee before handing the bottle off to Miles. "Why yes we would, thank you."

Rachel went back to the stove, looking like she was ready to murder someone. Charlie held her breath and counted to ten, ready to yell at them both. She opened her mouth when Rachel suddenly burst out laughing and sent another homemade hockey puck sailing at him. "You really are horrible, you know that?" Monroe turned in his chair and sent her an innocent look as he took a sip of his now perfect coffee. "And so are these biscuits," she admitted as she threw the last one at him. This time, his reflexes kicked in and he caught it.

Charlie rolled her eyes as she looked around the room. Miles just sat there with a shit eating grin on his face. He was more than a little amused by the exchange. She passed Danny over to his father. "Am I the only grown up in this family?"

Miles took a drink straight from the bottle. "Probably. But look at the bright side Charlie. A few months ago, she'd be throwing something pointy at him instead."

After several more days of lounging about the house, Gene finally gave him the all clear to slowly get back to work. He wasn't at a hundred percent yet, but he could at least get to the stables and back without getting dizzy or winded. Determined, he had bitched and moaned until Miles had agreed to train with him. If the Patriots were this close, he needed to be back in fighting shape. Whether he liked it or not, war was coming. He wouldn't go seeking trouble, but when it came to him, he had to be ready. For once in his life, he finally had something good to fight for.

Aaron and Priscilla had gotten back the day before.

_Monroe is sitting on the couch finishing up Daniel's ledgers while Danny and Angie toddle about the room. He's managed to barricade them into the room for the time being – not that it will last. The back door opens. He hears Miles' voice drifting in from the kitchen. Miles was supposed to be mucking out the stable today (Monroe had loved the look on his face when Daniel had asked him to do it), so either he'd decided to shirk out of it or something was up. _

_The additional voices suggest the latter is the case. Monroe sets the ledger aside, his interest now piqued. He's just standing up when Aaron and Priscilla emerge from the kitchen with Miles behind them. "Well look who's back from vacation. Did you have fun?" He says as he greets them._

_He holds out a hand to Aaron, but the bigger man pulls him into a bear hug instead. "You're okay!"_

"_Ow! Yeah I'm fine." Monroe says as he pats Aaron on the back. He's crushing him a little. "Okay, Aaron. Too long…"_

_Aaron releases him. "Sorry. I kind of made that awkward, didn't I?"_

_Monroe gives Priscilla a quick hug in greeting and then stoops down to pick up Danny who has decided to play with the ledger he was working on. "Yeah, just a little bit," he says as he sits back down._

_Miles is snickering from behind. Having seen Aaron and Priscilla arrive, Charlie and Rachel have come inside just in time to watch the exchange. They are trying to keep straight faces. _

"_Look at you Aaron. All big and bad taking on the Patriots now," Monroe says as everyone takes a seat. _

_Miles disappears for a few minutes and comes back with a bottle and some glasses. Friends making it home is always cause for a drink – well, at least for the three alcoholics in the room (Miles has really enjoyed living on a farm with its own still house). "So how did it all go?" he asks as he pours the whiskey._

_Aaron accepts the glass Miles offers him. "Took the whole compound down. I got to admit it, it was kind of fun – like rummaging through a strangers junk at a garage sale."_

_Charlie was playing with Angie on her lap on the floor. "How much of it did they manage to load up?"_

"_All of it," Aaron says. "As far as anyone in the area will be concerned, they were never there. He said they'll put it to good use. We destroyed the stuff they used to – you know…" He doesn't want to say it out loud. He doesn't know what effect the ordeal has had on Monroe. Uncomfortable, Aaron change the subject. "So anyway, they'll be back and ready to set up by the end of the week. Avery and the sheriff rode in with us this morning, along with everyone else from town."_

_Monroe looks up from his whiskey. "How many people went with you to raid them?"_

_Priscilla speaks up. "Almost everyone we've recruited and then some."_

_Monroe thinks about this for a few minutes. There must have been fifty or more soldiers at that compound. More if he counted Truman and some of the other higher-ups. They'd only managed to recruit a dozen men with any fighting skills and maybe fifteen more that had no hope of defending themselves in a fight. How the hell did they manage to take out that compound? He decides to leave it for now. He wants to think it over a while longer before he forces Miles and Charlie to give him some answers. "It's good to have you home," he tells them. _

Monroe and Miles had just finished sparring in the paddock. Miles had gotten the upper hand a few times, but considering how long he'd been down and out, Monroe hadn't been surprised. Still, it was good to get back in it; to be active. His endurance was still lacking, but at least he was steady on his feet and could swing a sword.

"Ever think we're getting too old for this shit?" Miles asked as he leaned against the fence, trying to appear that he wasn't winded.

Monroe laughed as he picked up his jacket. "Maybe you are. Me? Still in my prime. Just look at the young piece of ass I'm about to marry." When Miles sent the rock hurling at him, he managed to duck just in the nick of time.

"That's my niece you're talking about, asshole." Miles still laughed in spite of himself. They headed out of the paddock and back towards the house.

Monroe decided that he'd waited long enough. He stopped in his tracks and held an arm out to block Miles' progress across the yard. "How did you manage to take out that compound? There were fifty, sixty guys there. We had what, fifteen maybe twenty, tops?"

Miles sighed. "Let's take a walk, Bass." He did an about face and headed towards the fields. They walked for a while, passed the winter wheat and barley that they'd planted in the fall. The rest of the fields would be fallow until spring. The fields at the back of the property were a bit lower than the rest. Daniel only used them in drier years because the creek had a tendency to flood into them otherwise.

The fields were busy with activity. Tents were being set up and there were men everywhere. "We told you we had some help; made a few friends. These are our new friends."

They headed down towards the camp. As Monroe looked around, he could see some of the Patriot tents that had been repurposed. He took a few deep breaths, trying to remind himself that he wasn't back at the compound – these men were just making good use of their supplies in a world where good tents were harder to find. The men that came and went were all wearing camo. He studied one of the men that walked by. The pattern identified the uniform as U.S. Army. This struck him as odd.

What the Patriots wore closely resembled old Navy khakis, but even those were just variations. And this had made since. They'd been hiding in Cuba and Gitmo was a naval base. The patterns on these uniforms were too perfect. They had to be pre-blackout and from the looks of them, official. "What the hell?"

"They just all arrived this morning," Miles explained as he led Monroe through the camp. He flagged down one of the soldiers. The young man looked very familiar to Monroe – he knew instantly where he'd seen him before.

"He was there – with the patriots. He's one of them." He quickly squashed down the panic that started to rise. He would not let himself lose it here. "What the hell is he doing here, Miles?"

"Bass, this is Corporal Scott Walters. He was there. He was also the one that sent word that you were still alive," Miles told him calmly. He turned to the corporal now. "Where did you set up the command tent?" Corporal Walters pointed them in the right direction and then turned to go back to his duties.

"General Monroe!" he said as they walked away. Monroe turned to the man slowly. Normally when someone called him that these days it was done quite derisively, but now this was not the case. "I'm sorry that it took so long for us to get you out of there. I couldn't blow my cover and it took a while to get a message out safely."

Monroe nodded to acknowledge the man as he turned back around and followed Miles. They entered a large tent on the other side of the camp. Much to Monroe's surprise, Rachel and Charlie were already there. "Okay, _what the fuck_ is going on?"

Charlie met him at the entrance to the tent. She grabbed his hand and led him over to the man seated at the table in the middle of the tent. Rachel took it upon herself to introduce him to the man. "Bass, this is Thomas Donovan." The man was wearing what was once probably a very expensive suit. It was worn with age now. The man was maybe in his early sixties and looked tired but determined all the same.

"Nice to meet you. Who the hell are you?" Monroe asked, not bothering to hide his annoyance at being the last in the loop.

The man dug into his pocket and pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper. He slid it in front of Monroe. It was an old twenty dollar bill. Confused, Monroe picked it up and held it up to inspect it. He didn't know what he was supposed to be looking for when he saw it – stamped to the right of Andrew Jackson it said "SERIES 2012". To the right of that was a signature. _Thomas L Donovan, Secretary of the Treasury. _

Monroe looked up at the man before him. "What does this all mean?"

Donovan sighed in exasperation. "I thought Government class was required for high school graduation nation-wide. Didn't anyone pay attention?"

Mile laughed. "In Bass' defense, if I remember correctly he spent the entire semester trying to sleep with the girl that sat next to him in that class. What was her name?"

"Trying?" Bass said under his breath. That got him an elbow in the ribs from Charlie. He winced. She just happened to get him in a spot that was still sore.

"The Secretary of the Treasury is the fifth person in the Presidential line of succession." Rachel waited for him to make the connection. When he didn't immediately, she explained further. "Jack Davis was my old boss' boss – the Secretary of Defense, who is sixth in the line of Presidential succession.

Monroe finally got it (he really should have paid more attention in that class). "That makes you the President of the United States."

_Thomas Donovan is on his way to the airport. He's running late. The driver receives a text message. The next light is red, so he takes the opportunity to check the message. There are only a few people that have this number, so he knows it's related to his job. They do not know it yet, but this message will later change the fates of many. _

_As soon as the light turns green, the driver breaks several traffic laws and makes the next left. "What the hell are you doing?" Donovan shouts. The driver ignores him. He drives for several more minutes, pulling over in front of a nondescript building. Several agents get into the car. "What is going on?!" Donovan asks again. _

"_Sir," one of the agents begins, "we've got reason to believe that there will be an attack on American soil and have been instructed to get you to a secure location."_

_Donovan is taken aback. "An attack? By whom? What about the president?"_

"_There is no time, sir. We are trying to contact his security detail, but they've gone off-line. It's already begun. All communication with the President and the rest of the cabinet has been cut off," the agent explains further._

"_By whom?" Donovan asks again._

_The other agent turns around in the front seat. "If what we've been told is correct? The Vice President and the Secretary Davis are planning a coup." _

"_My God," Donovan says. They drive for an hour and then the power goes out. They are out of Washington at least. They walk for miles, finally coming upon a safe house where they will pass the night. _

_Over the next several weeks pieces of the puzzle will slowly come together. A lone CIA agent accidently found something that was supposed to remain hidden: The nanite program and the order from the Vice President to covertly release the nanites before they were brought on-line, giving them time to replicate. When he contacted his superiors, he'd quickly found his own life in danger. Someone was trying to cover this up. _

_Not knowing what else to do, he contacted a buddy of his that worked for the Secret Service. That the Secret Service was ultimately headed by The Secretary of Treasury was what would save Donovan's life. When the rest of communication went down, they could still reach his driver. _

_They would discover that by the time the power had gone out, the Vice President and Secretary Davis had already disembarked on the U.S.S. Constitution for destinations unknown. The President and the rest of the line of succession were already in the air at the time. Donovan was supposed to be on that plane. It had presumably gone down with the rest. _

_The Secret Service has discovered that there are agents of this conspiracy everywhere. So they will keep Donovan in hiding. There is nothing they can do but wait as the world falls apart – if the Vice President is involved, they will have to find a way to impeach him. If that happens, Donovan will be President. He must be protected. They watch over the next several years as the nation falls apart and the new Republics and Federations rise from the ashes of what was once a great nation._

Monroe drug a hand through his hair as he took it all in. "That's some crazy ass grassy knoll shit. So all of it – the whole blackout was a conspiracy to take of the government?"

"That's right," Donovan explained. "And they've had a hand in everything since. Even who won the militia wars," He adds meaningfully. "The plan was to let it all collapse and then sweep in to save the day and turn the power back on in the tower. Unfortunately for them, they didn't count on Mrs. Matheson or Mr. Pittman. The tower was the only place it could have been turned back on, so as far as we know, it's gone forever."

"If all of this was so hush-hush, how do you know all of it?" Monroe was still not convinced that this guy wasn't in league with the Patriots somehow. He seemed to know things that even Rachel didn't, and she'd been one of the ones to invent the tech in the first place.

"We've been able to convert one or two of them over the years. We knew what was happening, but they left too many men around for us to do more than watch and wait. It wasn't until Texas declared war that we were able to come out of hiding at all." What he said at least made some sense.

"Okay, I'll buy it. But what about the Vice President? If he was in on it, how'd this Davis asshole get the job of President instead of him?"

Donovan tossed a stack of papers towards Monroe to look at. Most of it was correspondences – all in Arabic with the translations neatly clipped to the originals. "From what we've been able to gather, Davis stabbed him in the back, and had planned to do so the entire time. I was supposed to be on that plane, so no one knew I was alive. Otherwise, I would imagine that Davis wouldn't have ordered him killed yet. Not when there was another person ahead of him."

It suddenly all started to make sense. "That's why Truman was so desperate to find out what I knew. He must have thought we were working with you."

"We were trying to get support down south while Davis was focused on trying to conquer Texas and the Plains. It didn't matter how careful we were, but word got out," Donovan told him.

Monroe laughed halfheartedly. Everything they'd done to him had been for nothing. "And they found out that there was a challenger to the throne, so to speak. They just happened to capture and torture the wrong guy." He turned to Miles. "Truman was awful convinced that you were up to no good. Did you know about them the whole time?" He was praying Miles had not been hiding this from him ever since he and Rachel had shown up.

Miles shook his head. "No, we didn't even know he existed until we were told where to find you."

Donovan cut in. "We found out that Miles Matheson and been working with Texas and had been in part instrumental in getting them to declare war. Our sources found out that he'd headed to Louisiana after the fighting started to wind down, so we followed him there. Texas and California had already stated that they'd go no further east than the Mississippi. We were hoping to use Miles as a go-between to get them to support us further. We sent a squad to intercept them after they'd headed north, but we were too late. The Patriots had already attacked and we found out they were on the run again." Donovan stood and nodded his head at one of the guards stationed outside of the tent, who had poked his head in. "We may not have found Miles, but we did find someone else – left for dead. If his recovery hadn't lasted several weeks, we may very well have gotten here before you were taken."

"Who was it?" Monroe asked, curious now.

"It was me."

Monroe slowly stood and turned around to face the ghost he'd just heard coming from the entrance of the tent. It felt like someone had just kicked the wind right out of him. He just stared for several minutes before he found his voice. "Connor?"

It had been a year and a half since he'd seen his oldest son. Long gone were the remnants of the suit he'd worn on the flight north from Mexico. He now wore a combination of civilian clothes and the camos that the rest of the men save Donovan wore. The long scar down the side of his face was obviously fairly recent. Monroe recalled what Donovan had said – They'd found him left for dead.

"Hey Dad," Connor said, breaking Monroe out of his reverie.

He swiped his hand down his face. He wasn't sure how to react; whether to laugh, cry or puke. So, he picked his old standby. He got pissed instead. He turned to Miles and Charlie. "You knew? I've been home for two weeks and you – you kept this from me?"

Charlie put a hand on his shoulder. "Hey –"

Monroe shrugged away from her. "Charlie, how could you do that to me? Him, well I'd kind of expect it from." He jacked a thumb towards Miles in indication. "But you?" He'd heard enough and needed time to think. Before he said or did something he'd regret later, he stalked out of the tent and got as far away from them as he could.

When Charlie moved to follow, Miles stopped her. "Let him go," he told her sadly. He knew Monroe better than anyone. He'd need time to calm down before he was willing to see to reason or talk about it. Confronting him now would only hurt them both.

_Connor mounts his horse, intending to ride back with them to Providence. The sight of his father, the infamous Sebastian Monroe huddled fearfully in the corner of the wagon, naked and ill is almost too much to take in. Even in Puesta Del Sol he'd held himself high; fighting within a few hours of a whipping that would have sent many to their graves. _

"_What's wrong with him?" he asks. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Monroe starts to react horribly. _

_He freaks out, reacting in terror. Muttering the same words over and over. "Not real…"_

_Miles looks down at Monroe. Rachel is in the driver's seat. They are waiting for Gene. The good doctor has gone with some of the men to raid what is obviously the medical tent. The fighting has stopped. Other than a few prisoners, most of the Patriots now lay dead. They will leave as soon as Gene has the supplies they need to keep Monroe alive until they've found a safe place. "He's drugged," Miles tells them._

_As they wait, any time Connor speaks Monroe lashes out. Rachel pulls him aside. "None of us knew you were alive. Whatever they've been giving him has obviously made him hallucinate. At some point he must have come down enough to realize it. He won't be able to accept that you're here until he's come out of it. It could take days."_

_The decision is made. He will ride ahead and spread the word before doubling back and helping out her. As he prepares to leave, he all but begs. "Don't tell him about me if he comes out of it. I'll tell him myself. See you in a few weeks."_

**A/N: If I've done my job right, you will have learned that the lone patriot watching as Monroe was waterboarded was Corporal Walters, not Connor as some people suspected. Since Truman knows what Connor looks like, it would be impossible for him to infiltrate the Patriots. However, Connor was the one that came to tell Charlie that Monroe was alive and he was the rider that warned of their approach and the need to switch horses daily. **

**Also, yes I have played fast and loose with the structure of our government. The Secretary of Treasury really is right before the Secretary of Defense in the Presidential Line of Succession. But, the Secret Service has not been under the Department of the Treasury since 2003 since the creation of Homeland Security. I've decided to just pretend that Homeland Security does not exist for the purpose of this story. Essentially, I'm using the Secret Service as a Device to create an avenue for the real United States to show up. **


	13. That's It Just Super Glue It Instead

**A/N: I'm sorry again for another long delay. Our characters needed a lot of closure, and it was not easy to write. Plus, with my work schedule, I kept having to stop writing mid conversation, and when I went to pick it back up, the flow just got stilted, so I kept having to re-write them. Anyway thank you all for sticking with me thus far and I hope you enjoy ( I know, another chapter that's heavy on the dialog, apologies).**

Monroe stomped off through the fields back towards the barnyard. On the way, he considered holing up in the still house for a while. Suddenly getting plowed seemed like an excellent idea. He paused by the structure for a few minutes, tempted. With a sigh, he got moving again. As much as he'd enjoy the numbness a good buzz promised, he had work to do.

Instead, he headed towards the toolshed. He yanked the door open, letting it bang against the frame. He'd been meaning to sort through it since before that fateful trip north. He started dragging things out, setting aside broken and dull tools to be dealt with later. If he happened to be throwing things around a bit more than necessary, well there was no one around to criticize him for it at the moment.

The commotion eventually drew Daniel out of the house. "So I take it you know," he said calmly as he approached. Monroe threw a broken shovel out of his way, enjoying the satisfying bang as it struck a tree stump. He glared up at Daniel before turning back to emptying out the shed. "Don't give me one of your death stares, boy. It wasn't my place and you weren't ready hear it."

Monroe pulled a crate out of the shed and crouched down in front of a pile of smaller tools to sort through them. "Not ready to hear my son was still alive? How do you figure?"

Daniel nudged the shovel out of the way with his toe and took a seat on the stump. "I wasna there when they found you, but I heard enough about it. Whatever cocktail they were giving you messed your head up pretty bad – and you were still bad off the day they brought you home."

Monroe didn't see how one had to do with the other. "It's been two weeks, old man."

"And you needed that time to work on healin'. You couldn't even move for days and as much as you want to pretend otherwise, you still got a ways to go. Part of you is still back there, Sebastian. Still bein' tortured and drugged and god knows what else they done to you."

Giving up, Monroe pulled himself out of his crouch and sat down. He hated to talk about the aftereffects of what the Patriots did to him; hated to face it, but he couldn't deny it either. "I know," he said, resting his forehead on his hand. "It's getting better though."

Daniel stood up. "I'm not sayin' they was right; not sayin' they was wrong either. What I'm tellin' you is that their intentions were good and you need to understand that."

He started to head back to the house, stopping only to offer one last comment. "War's comin', whether we like it or not. We're all gonna have to make choices that we don't like. Until then, try and make what peace you can."

Monroe watched Daniel's retreat until he disappeared. He stood up and grabbed the crate. He turned towards the shed to put it away when he almost dropped the thing, fumbling with it before it slipped from his hands. In front of him was someone that couldn't have been there. "I'm losing my fucking mind," he said aloud.

Not knowing what else to do, he closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. He willed what was obviously a hallucination to go away. He slowly opened them again, but she was there all the same. His long dead sister stood before him, looking just as he remembered her. "You're not real. Angela is dead," he said to the image before him.

The apparition shook her head, but didn't speak. "No, I buried you twenty years ago. You can't be here."

"Remember your bargain," she said.

Despite the fact he knew it couldn't be real, Monroe couldn't dismiss the ache in the pit of his stomach at seeing her now. "What? I don't understand."

She took a step backward towards the open shed. "You made a bargain. Don't forget it." Before he could respond, the image of his sister was gone.

He cautiously entered the shed, expecting to see her in the shadows inside, but it was empty. He set the crate down and turned around. Aaron stood in the doorway. "What are you doing here?" He snapped. He knew it was uncalled for, but Aaron couldn't have come up on him at a worst time.

Aaron had witnessed Monroe's conversation with the thin air. "Well, I thought I'd see if you wanted help. Sorry for interrupting."

The words had the desired effect –he felt guilty. "Look, I'm sorry okay? Weird day."

Aaron recalled the first time the Nano had appeared to him as the dead. He'd seen Ben Matheson bleeding on the floor. It had been a thoroughly disturbing experience. "Let me guess, trying to decide if you've just seen a ghost or if you're just crazy instead?"

Monroe's jaw dropped. "How did you know?"

"You get used to it. It's neither, by the way. You've just had a chat with the Nano. Creepy isn't it?"

Monroe suddenly felt lightheaded. He sat down on the stump he'd been using as target practice earlier. "They can do that?"

"They can see what's in your head, remember?" Aaron was curious. The Nano never reveals itself without a reason. "Who did you see? What did they say to you?"

Monroe shuddered as he recalled the way she'd appeared. "It was my sister, Angie. She died a long time ago – with the rest of my family before the blackout. She told me to remember my bargain." It suddenly hit him. He knew what they Nano meant. "It was a threat, wasn't it? I had two sisters – why else would it show up as the one we named Angie after?"

Aaron bent down to pick up a few rakes that Monroe had drug out of the shed. "If there's one thing I can tell you it's this: Whatever the Nano say, listen. Think about what they can do – and they hate being ignored."

They worked in silence until the shed was put to rights. By the time they'd finished, Monroe knew what he needed to do. He did his best to fight back the growing unease at seeing his sister's image. The threat was clear to him – Go back on his end of the bargain, and the Nano could very well go back on its own. He slowly worked his way back to Donovan's camp.

Monroe had plenty of time to think on his way through the fields. It didn't make sense to him that they were setting up a permanent base outside of Providence. It wasn't a strategic location for one thing. For another, once his identity became common knowledge it could very well hurt Donovan. People would associate the would-be president with one of the worst war criminals the continent had ever known. It was political suicide.

He quickly found the command tent. The guard outside gestured for him to enter, almost as if he was expected. Donovan was still there with Miles and Connor. Charlie and Rachel were nowhere to be seen. Miles walked up to him as he entered. "Bass, I'm sorry –" he began, keeping his voice low.

Monroe cut him off. "I know." They would have to leave it at that for the time being. He shot Connor a look that said they'd talk later. He could sense the underlying resentment the young man carried towards him. They still needed to clear the air about a lot of things, but now was not the time. "So obviously you've got some master plan, otherwise you wouldn't be setting up shop here, nor would you have bothered risking your men to save my hide," he said to Donovan.

"That's right," Donovan acknowledged. "If we're going to get Texas to do more than keep an eye on things, we need men. They aren't going to do all of our work for us."

This was nothing that Monroe didn't already know. "The question is where do you plan on getting them?"

Donovan sat down behind his desk and started rifling through some papers. "That's been the problem up until now. With their reprogramming centers, Davis can turn out fifty soldiers per camp per month. From what we can tell, there are nine camps fully operational scattered throughout the east. There are at least five more in the works."

Monroe thought about this. 700 men per month didn't seem like a lot. Not when his militia had once been over ten thousand strong. But they were at a disadvantage here. The Patriots could pull their recruits from pretty much anywhere, willing or not. Donovan didn't have that luxury. He had to get people to follow him willingly. "What about deprogramming the recruits? Converting them?"

"That's the plan eventually," Donovan explained. "They can be ordered to disregard their previous instructions and then deactivated by their handlers. They can't be reactivated without their number having been read. All we have to do is tattoo over them." He indicated Monroe should take a seat. Once he'd complied a file slid across the desk towards him.

Monroe picked up the file and scanned its contents. It seemed that at least Donovan had done his homework. "That's still going to take more men than you've got. If your math is right, some of these centers have hundreds of soldiers guarding them; the biggest one has over a thousand men assigned to it. We got lucky in Willoughby. They camp had to stay small to keep it off of Carver's radar."

Donovan pushed away from the desk and got to his feet. He pulled out a map and unrolled it on the desk. "And that's why your son was able to convince me to order your rescue." He pointed towards several locations on the map. "Shortly before Corporal Walters sent word of your capture we received a report. There are rumors of two garrisons of your former militia still holed up. We don't know their exact numbers or their condition, but it could give us help we need."

Monroe flinched. As Donovan spoke he pictured Angela's face; the Nano's warning echoed in his hears. 'What are you thinking?" He slowly stood and circled the desk to look at the map.

Donovan did not notice the wariness in Monroe's voice. "The reports indicated that there is one here in New Brunswick. The other is hiding somewhere in the upper peninsula of Michigan." His finger traced from one location on the map to another. "In order to recruit them, we need you and Miles Matheson."

Monroe backed up, having decided he'd heard enough. "Here's a news flash for you: Right before the bombs dropped, my men were shooting at me. Tom Neville pulled a coup and they were only too happy to follow him. More than likely they'd shoot me on sight - Miles too for that matter."

Miles stopped his retreat from the tent. "We don't know that the word spread past Colorado. More than likely it didn't. You show up, and they'll probably follow. It's worth a try, Bass. And it's the best shot we've got, anyway."

Monroe pulled Miles aside. 'You want me to take command of an army? Do you have any idea what you're asking?" He kept his voice at a harsh whisper.

"I trust you, Bass." Miles whispered back.

He sighed in resignation. "Well that only makes one of us." Their powwow now over, he turned back to Donovan. "I've gotta think about this." Without another word, he turned and left the tent. Connor was hot on his heels, determined to find out what just happened there.

"Hey! What the hell is your problem?" Connor called after him.

Monroe kept walking until he was at the edge of the camp. Away from Donovan's men, he finally turned around. "I'm not going to have a screaming match with you in front of men I might be working with later. We've got a lot to talk about, but I'm sure as hell not doing this sober. You coming?"

They sat in the still house in silence for a while, just brooding into their whiskey. This was not a conversation that would come easily. Monroe knew he had to reach through years of resentment and a lust for power that rivaled his own.

"Donovan is giving us what we wanted; a way to take back what's ours. Wanna tell me why that's a problem now?" Connor asked.

Monroe took another pull out of the bottle in his hands. "Things are different now, kid. I've got a life here, family."

Connor refused to look at him. "The Matheson's aren't your blood.

"Danny and Angie are. They need me here, not out there somewhere turning back into Hitler," he argued.

"What about me, _Dad_." The title fell off of Connor's lips in a sneer.

Monroe looked up from the bottle. "What about you? You're twenty-seven years old. You don't need me, hell I'm pretty sure you don't even like me – not that anyone could blame you for that."

Connor tried to hide the hurt in his voice to no avail. "I gave up my life in Mexico because of what you promised me. Doesn't that mean anything?"

Monroe stood up and walked to the window. He stared into the darkness for a while before responding. "It was a promise I shouldn't have made. The Republic wasn't exactly a good thing, and there was no way we'd have done any better the second time around. I'm not capable of it."

He turned back around to face his son. "I'm sorry I wasn't there. If I'd have known about you everything would have been different. I don't know why your mom kept you from me all of those years. I wasn't fucked up like this before the blackout – I actually used to be a decent guy. The Republic destroyed what was left of that. You gotta understand kid, I've got a chance to do things right this time; I need to take it."

Connor changed tactics. "So make things right with me and then bow out."

"Not gonna happen," Monroe said, shaking his head. "Even if I wanted to I can't give you what you want."

Connor jumped up. "Why?" He was shouting now, tired of being evaded.

"Because of Charlie," Monroe said, trying to keep his cool.

The answer only served to ignite Connor's anger further. "Because she asked you to?"

"Because it was the only way to save her life," Monroe shouted right back. Connor looked like he'd just been slapped. "She almost died having your brother and sister, and I was given a choice: Get the Republic back or save her. I'd already lost one woman I loved like that. I couldn't lose her too." He told Connor about the Nano and the offer they made – how he'd actually surprised an entity that could read his mind. "I think they actually wanted me to choose differently, like they testing a hypothesis or something."

The silence between them returned as Connor digested what he'd just been told. "You know that sounds crazy, right?" he said after a while.

"Yeah, I know." Monroe laughed in spite of himself. "But enough people have seen what they can do, it's not just me. Rachel and Gene watched those things bring Aaron back from the dead. We've seen them burn people alive. They even fixed my head and brought back all of my memories out of nowhere – not a fun experience by the way."

Connor sighed as he picked up the whiskey he'd abandoned while they were yelling at each other. "You really love her that much?"

"Since the moment I saw her, even if I was too stupid to realize it at first," he said. "I should have told you before New Vegas. I saw you making cow eyes at her before we even left, but I hadn't planned on ever going there. It just kind of happened. I never meant to hurt you."

Connor shrugged. "You just hurt my pride. No one wants to lose a girl to their _old_ man."

Monroe raised a brow to his oldest child. "Watch it, boy. I'm still young enough to still take you out."

"Whatever." Connor chose not to remind him that he'd actually gotten the upper hand in that death match in New Vegas. "So what do you think you'll decide; will you help Donovan?"

Monroe took another drink, enjoying the buzz that was finally starting to settle in. "Maybe. Putting me in charge of an army is not the brightest thing anyone could do, but it may be the only way to finally end this. At least with Donovan, someone will be there to pick up the pieces when it's done. He's a better man for the job than I'd be. Plus, I've got a score to settle with these bastards. Too bad I won't get a chance to settle it with Truman."

"Well, maybe Donovan will let you take a whack at him when he's decided they're done with him," Connor replied.

Monroe's eyes narrowed, his expression darkened. "Truman is here?"

The change in Monroe's demeanor was not lost on his son. "Yeah, they're holding him in a shack on that Carter guy's farm."

"Show me," Monroe said as he stood back up.

It was very late when Monroe stumbled into the back door. Connor helped to hold him upright as he led his father through the kitchen. He'd only been in the house a handful of times, so he wasn't entirely familiar with the layout. He tried to navigate his father as quietly as possible, but he wasn't doing that good of a job. Eventually Miles appeared in the hallway. "What the hell is going on?"

"Will you just help me?" Connor said through gritted teeth. He may have lost some mass during his captivity, but Monroe was still heavy, especially since he'd gone damn near boneless halfway between the still house and the back porch. Connor was still buzzed from earlier in the night, which wasn't making things any easier.

Miles grabbed Monroe's other arm and looped it around his shoulder. Together they drug him to his bedroom. Charlie jumped out of bed when the door opened. The outline of Monroe's limp form had her rushing to light the lamp on her nightstand. "What happened?"

_Connor leads Monroe to the shack in question. There are a few guards outside, just to be sure that Truman doesn't try something stupid and make a break for it. "Move," Monroe says coldly as he approaches. "I need to see him."_

_The guards stand in indecision, but one of them was there when they'd pulled the man before them out of that basement. He'd seen what their prisoner had done. Reluctantly, he lifts the barricade on the door and steps aside. _

_Truman stands when Monroe enters. He appears no worse for wear. Donovan may be keeping him for information, but he's not been subjected to the Patriot's methods of interrogation. No, Donovan wouldn't go there – he was making it a point to be different than the man he's hoping to usurp. "What's he doing here?" Truman's voice trembles in fear. Deep down he's known this moment would come, but he'd been hoping otherwise._

_Monroe leans up against the wall of the shack, his arms crossed casually across his chest. This reminds Truman of another time and place – a trailer outside of Willoughby while the faux typhus raged through the town. "What's the matter Ed? Didn't you miss me?"_

_Truman notices that Monroe appears to be unarmed. He calms down slightly. He tells himself that Donovan has wanted him alive and unharmed – Monroe wouldn't risk himself to go against that order. "Like I'd miss any other traitor and terrorist," he says with more confidence than he feels._

_Monroe makes a tsking sound. "Now that's not very nice, Ed. And here I thought we became such good friends during my stay with you." _

_The way Monroe has emphasized "friends" sends a chill down Truman's spine. "You didn't get anything that you didn't deserve."_

_Monroe laughs. "You're not wrong. I've done things to better men than you that you couldn't imagine." He crosses the room, enjoying the way the man is squirming at his implied threat. The shack is small and Truman's ankle is chained to an iron loop in the wall. There's nowhere for him to go._

"_The guards outside won't let you torture me," Truman stammers. _

"_Maybe," Monroe says with a smile._

_Truman's eyes grow wide. He starts to back away from Monroe. He only gets a few feet before his back is against the far wall. "What do you want?"_

_Monroe stops just a foot away from his prey. He ignores the question. "You know, your intel really does suck, Truman. I knew where Miles was, but neither one of us knew anything about Donovan. Funny, isn't it? You went through all that effort for nothing." _

_Truman is shaking. "I wouldn't say for nothing," he says with false bravado._

"_Yeah, somehow I figured that. You got off on it didn't you? Just a little? Watching the infamous Sebastian Monroe brought so low must have made you feel good – powerful," Monroe mocks him. He doesn't give Truman a chance to respond. He reaches out and grabs the man by the throat, whipping him around. Monroe holds him from behind and squeezes his throat. Truman makes a gagging sound as the pressure on his larynx increases._

"_Your little spies were right about one thing, Ed. I was in Louisiana, and Charlie was pregnant. It was twins, by the way – one of each. And they're beautiful, perfect." He squeezes harder for a second before slacking off just a bit. Truman starts to struggle, but Monroe holds him in place. "I could just let bygones be bygones for the torture. As you said, I got what I deserved."_

_Truman tries to swallow, but Monroe's grip is interfering. The door opens behind them. In the back of his mind, Monroe knows that it's Donovan standing behind him, but it's too late to back down now. "You should have killed me when you had the chance, Ed. I told you I'd find a way to take you down. I can get over a lot of things, but threatening my family isn't one of them." _

_Truman starts to feel dizzy as his lungs burn for oxygen. Monroe only laughs. "I hope you rot in hell, you son of a bitch." Before anyone can stop him he snaps Truman's neck. He lets the body fall to the ground with a satisfying thud. He looks down at what he's done. A small part of him is screaming in his head. "What have you done?!" the voice says._

_Monroe slowly turns around. Truman and Connor are there in the doorway. They've both witnessed Truman's death. After their conversation earlier, Connor has been convinced that his father has gone soft. What he's just seen has shown him just how far off the mark he was. Donovan stands slack jawed._

"_You wanted my help, Mr. President? Well you've got it." He gestures at the body behind him. "Consider that an advanced payment for services rendered." He stalks past them and out the door. One of the guards looks winded. It's obvious the man ran back to the camp to get his commander-in-chief as soon as Monroe had entered the shack._

_As he heads back to the farm, he is overcome by what he's done. One minute he'd been telling Connor how he'd wanted to do things differently. The next, he's snapping Truman's neck. He feels the bile in his throat. He stops walking long enough to empty the contents of his stomach. After the waves of nausea diminish, he blindly heads back to the still house. He grabs a bottle off the rack. Breaking the wax seal, he takes a long drink, trying to wash away the bad taste in his mouth from puking earlier._

_Connor finds him an hour later. The bottle is almost empty. This, on top of what he'd had earlier have left him in a sorry state. He sits on the floor, the bottle dangling loosely in his hand. With a sigh, Connor stoops to pick his father up. He's not even sure if Monroe realizes it's him. _

"_It always comes back to that," Monroe slurs as they work their way across the yard. "There's always going to be times that I can't fight it."_

Connor and Miles dump Monroe unceremoniously on the bed. "Truman's dead," Connor says quietly.

Charlie and Miles both turn to look at Connor. "How?" Charlie asks.

Connor just stares at his father. "He killed him." He watches as Charlie removes his boots while Miles works quickly to get him out of his jacket. "He agreed to help Donovan." Connor adds. Charlie and Miles lock eyes. There's no going back now, they're all in.


	14. It's Just A Prototype, Try It Out

**A/N: This is a rather long transition chapter that leads up to what will be a rather long road trip. I added a few comical scenes because the last several chapters were very intense, so I thought I'd try to lighten it up a bit (I'm a tiny bit worried that I may have jumped the shark with the last chapter, so this is my attempt to salvage a bit…) There is a bit of strategy afoot where we will learn how exactly Miles and Monroe will help the cause of patriot ass whippins, followed by some pure Charloe… More notes at the end.**

_Monroe is only asleep for a few hours before he wakes up alone. He stumbles out of bed and through the kitchen to use the outhouse. Every other adult in the house is already gathered around the table, including Connor. Breakfast doesn't wait for hangovers to end. Hell, who is he kidding? Monroe's not sober enough to be hung over yet. When he returns to the house he slowly sinks into a chair._

_Gene sets a glass down in front of him. Monroe looks at it warily. "What is it?"_

_The good doctor just shrugs. "Just drink it. It'll help. Slam it though." It is obvious that Monroe doesn't quite trust the strange beverage in front of him. "I'm a doctor," Gene quietly reminds him._

_Monroe sighs and downs the contents of the glass, slamming it down on the table when he's done. The look on his face proves to everyone just how vile the drink tasted. Gene starts to count. "In three, two, one…"_

_As soon as Gene finishes his countdown, Monroe's eyes suddenly widen and he jumps out of the chair and out the back door. After several minutes, Charlie goes to check on him. He's out by the pump. She watches as he cups the water in his hand and then swishes it in his mouth before spitting it out. Obviously, his stomach has pulled a mutiny, but at least he looks a bit steadier. She goes back inside to get the twins up and ready for the day._

_Monroe shuffles back into the kitchen a few minutes later. "You're an asshole," he says to Gene as the older man sets a cup of coffee in front of him. _

"_But you feel better, don't you?" He replies with an unsympathetic grin._

"_Shut up," Monroe grumbles as he lifts the cup to his lips. For the first time in his adult life, he's grateful that it's not spiked. _

The next several days were spent with Charlie, Miles and Monroe sequestered with Donovan and Connor plotting strategy. Because of the fallout zone surrounding Philly, the entirety of New England was isolated from the rest of the former Monroe Republic. Because of this, they knew that as long as the militia in New Brunswick hadn't deserted completely they would have been safe from any Patriot attacks. That is, if they'd survived the two winters that have passed since the bombs dropped.

The only way to access them via land was by following the northern coasts of the Great Lakes. It took two days of arguing to come up with a basic plan. Miles and Monroe would first go and look for the troops that were supposed to be hiding somewhere near the remnants of Sault St. Marie. From there, Miles would head south with whomever he'd found while Monroe made the journey to New Brunswick.

The problem was that Sault St. Marie was over 800 miles away. The journey would take almost a month. From there, it would take another 5 or 6 weeks to reach New Brunswick, and the truth was they were basing all of their hopes and plans on intel that was sketchy at best.

Charlie was not happy with this plan. "You're talking about going 800 miles north at the worst possible time," she argued. "Winter starts early that far north. I grew up in Wisconsin. Trust me, I know."

Miles stared at the map they'd been looking at over the past several hours. "We can't afford to wait until spring. In four months, the Patriots can turn out another 3,000 zombies. We don't have a choice. It's got to be now."

They continued to argue for another hour or so. Monroe had long since given up and was sitting in the corner of the command tent watching Miles, Charlie and Connor go back and forth with Donovan helplessly trying to calm things down. "You know, there is another option," he finally said after he'd heard enough squabbling to last a lifetime.

Everyone in the tent turned their attention to him. "I've you've got a better idea, we're all ears Bass," Miles bit out, clearly frustrated.

Monroe stood and approached the map. "We head north to St. Louis. It'll take a little over a week, and if we leave in the next week or two, the weather shouldn't be too bad. The patriots have set up to have their supply chains from Louisiana drop off just south of the former downtown area. All we have to do is commandeer a riverboat."

He paused to see if they were still following him. As he gestured to the map, he marked various spots with old U.S. pennies. "We travel north to the Illinois River and ride it out to Chicago. We can take the channel here and then up Lake Michigan. It'd cut our trip in half and then we wouldn't have to worry about grazing the horses along the way."

Miles looked at the points that Monroe had marked along the suggested route. "It could work," he said thoughtfully.

"Absolutely not," Charlie snapped. St. Louis is crawling with Patriots, as you said. You'll be shot the second they see you – or worse."

Monroe wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Then we'll just have to make sure we don't get caught."

Charlie sighed, defeated. "You'll still have to winter over on the peninsula. There's no way you're going to ride over a thousand miles in Canada in the winter," she pointed out.

Monroe shook his head. "We won't have to wait for shit. We take the steamer across the great lakes and up the St. Lawrence. We kept a few ocean steamers in reserve before the Republic collapsed. If we're lucky, one of them will still be seaworthy. We can go around to St. John on the Gulf. If we can't find a ship that can make it, well it still cuts the trip down to less than two weeks."

Charlie looked at the map. "But you'll have to cut across Lake Erie. Won't that take you into the fallout zone?"

Miles thought about it. "No, the winds coming off of the lake would have pushed everything well south. We should be okay," He looked up at Monroe. "Gotta hand it to you Bass, you just might be a genius."

Monroe smiled as he let out an exaggerated sigh. "If only I used my powers for good."

They discussed the logistics for several more hours. The only problem they could see was finding several men to keep the steamer moving. They could steal the ship, but its crew would have to go – even if they were civilians the risk of keeping them on board would be too great.

If they could manage to pull off the theft, they still had to worry about coal. If they were lucky, the depot in Chicago would hopefully have enough to get them up Lake Michigan and later across Lake Superior. From there Monroe knew of several stops along the way in Canada that they could safely stop and get supplies and more coal.

_That night, Charlie voices her concerns as they are getting ready for bed. "I'm going with you," she tells him stubbornly. _

_Monroe is pulling down the covers. He stops and looks at her. "We've talked about this. Someone has to work with the resistance here. You're the best person for it. Besides, if the Patriots show up you need to protect Danny and Angie."_

"_Connor will still be here," she reminds him. Monroe had insisted that Connor stay behind with Donovan. He tells him it's because he's needed to help to recruit locals, but deep down Charlie knows he's terrified that his son will inadvertently tempt him to take things too far once the militia (if it even still exists) is under his command._

"_Charlie we don't know what's going to happen. This is still just a long shot. If something happens, Danny and Angie will need you more than ever," he argues as he climbs into bed._

_Charlie follows suit. He pulls her to him before her head even hits the pillow. "St. Louis is such a risk. I won't even know if you pulled it off for months. You want me to spend all that time not knowing?" The thought sends tears to her eyes. If they don't make it out of St. Louis successfully she'll be losing two of the most important people in her life._

_He holds her tight. "We'll be okay. This is me and Miles you're talking about. I'll find a way to get a message out to you, I swear." Charlie falls silent now. Before long his breathing evens out behind her, telling her that he's asleep. It is hours before she follows him there._

As November came to a close, things had slowly progressed in the preparations for their mission. The only thing they needed to get started was enough able men to pilot a steamer. Sheriff Beecher did know a guy in Lexington that had worked on smaller vessels going up and down the Ohio River that was willing to assist them, but he only had two other men that had agreed to join them. They were hoping for three crews, but they were one man shy of two.

Several men were considered to be a skeleton crew for a larger paddlewheel steamer, but even Monroe and Miles could help out in a pinch. What they needed were men familiar with the boiler and someone adept at navigating not only the Mississippi and Illinois Rivers, but also someone that would be able to get them through the Great Lakes in one piece.

Beecher's friend, Devon Graves had only done the Mississippi run a few times, but he was confident he could get them through. The men he brought with him both knew a boiler well enough to get by, but Devon could not pilot the ship around the clock. Their mission depended on getting to Lake Michigan without stopping. They could not do it with Devon alone.

Monroe and Miles were discussing exactly that late one evening. They were sitting on the back porch, enjoying the unusually mild weather, whiskey in hand trying to figure out a way around it. "How hard could it be?" Monroe asked. "One of us is just going to have to figure it out. You know, like when we borrowed your brother's car that summer before freshman year."

Miles laughed at the memory. "If I recall, you almost hit the tree in the neighbor's yard."

"I was fourteen – and drunk, thank you very much. But I still got us to Abby Brennan's house in one piece," Monroe protested with a chuckle.

Miles took a drink, still not quite used to the smoothness of the bourbon Daniel made. "Yeah, considering her dad was a cop, that wasn't one of your brightest moves. How long did you get grounded for that one?"

Monroe thought back. "I think it was like a month. You're welcome, by the way for covering your ass on that one."

"Anyway," Miles brought their conversation back on track. "There's no way we're piloting a riverboat on the fly. We still need at least one other man."

Aaron came around the corner at that moment. "Why do you need that?" he asked. So far, they hadn't really shared their plans with anyone. Donovan had thought it best to keep their mission a secret for the time being. If anyone were to let it slip that there might be Militia troops out there, it could undermine everything.

Monroe and Miles took the time to explain what they'd intended to Aaron. "Well, why didn't you say anything sooner?" he asked when they'd finished.

"Huh?" Monroe asked. "You can pilot a ship?"

"I had a little sidewheeler. They're a lot smaller, but the principal is the same."

Miles looked at Aaron in total amazement. "Okay, I can't resist. Why did you have it?"

"Why not?" Aaron shrugged. "It was a hobby and I could afford it."

Monroe just shook his head. "Rich people are weird. Welcome to the boat-jacking party, Aaron." He refilled his and Miles' glasses before handing the bottle to Aaron. "To eminent death, boys." Their morbid toast complete, Monroe and Aaron headed in while Miles took a stroll down to Donovan's camp to inform him that they'd found the rest of their crew.

Three days later, Charlie stood in front of the dresser in Jenny Carter's bedroom, twisting this way and that in the mirror to get a better look. The simple yellow sundress she wore was tight in a few places, but it would have to do. She'd borrowed it from Avery Carter's middle daughter, Katie. The girl was taller than and outweighed Charlie, but at eighteen she didn't have the same curves that Charlie had gained in motherhood. Regardless, there was no help for it. They didn't have the time to find something that fit better – or that was more weather appropriate.

_Two nights prior:_

"_I don't want to wait," she tells him as he comes into the bedroom. She doesn't know why it's so important to do this before he leaves, but it just is. _

_Monroe comes to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Charlie, you know that there's a chance that things will go wrong in St. Louis. I don't want to make you a wife and a widow in the same month." _

_She turns in his arms and looks up at him. "All the more reason for us to do it now. We may never have the chance." She doesn't want to think about the potentially negative outcome of what he and Miles are about to do, but it's been looming over them since that night he killed Truman._

"_Okay," he tells her as he lowers his mouth to hers._

Charlie finished her careful examination of the dress and went to look at the wedge sandals that Katie had sent over. These were pre-blackout shoes that her mother had saved all these years – something that Katie was quite proud of. Charlie had spent the entire day yesterday trying to walk in them but still hadn't been able to pull it off. She silently hoped that Katie's feelings weren't hurt. Instead, Charlie just decided to go barefoot.

Monroe was already waiting for her in the front room that Jenny had converted into her "parlor." Because the Carter's home was much larger than Daniel's, their neighbors had offered its use. Bob Beecher's uncle, Nicholas was a judge before the blackout. The Sheriff had insisted that his uncle could be trusted with Monroe's secret, so he'd been recruited to perform the ceremony.

Charlie took one final look in the mirror just as a knock came to the door. She opened it and let her grandfather in. "Ready?" he asked her, smiling. With a nervous nod, Charlie joined him in the hallway. "You look just like your grandma," he said as he led her down the hallway.

_He is standing next to Judge Beecher, waiting for her. The party gathered is small, intimate. Their immediate household is there, as well as the Carters, Bob Beecher and his wife and a few others that had supported their cause early on. Because it is December 4__th__, there are no flowers, no bouquet. Jenny has done her best to decorate the house with what she had on hand: some old artificial flowers from before the blackout, some Christmas garland and ribbons. _

_He waits in what could be considered his nicest looking pair of jeans and shirt. If there'd been more time, he'd have tried to find something more suitable, but it's hard to plan a wedding in 2 days, even one so simple. After the ceremony, they will celebrate in the dining room. _

_The longer she keeps him waiting, the more nervous he becomes. What a way to begin a marriage; married today, off to raise an army two days later. Nick Beecher clears his throat. Monroe turns to see Charlie in the doorway of the room. He's never seen her in a dress before, and he has to admit that she looks beautiful. Miles stands next to him. Being by far her closest friend still living, Aaron waits next to where Charlie will stand, her man-of-honor of sorts. _

_When she's at his side, Monroe glances down to see her bare toes. "Nice," he says with a smirk._

_Charlie leans in "This floor is freezing," she whispers in his ear. _

_Monroe bites back a laugh. "Better get this over with, don't want you getting cold feet," he whispers right back._

_The judge waits for them to knock it off. The look he's giving them is rather stern, as if he doesn't feel they're taking this business seriously. Monroe does his best to force a straight face. Getting himself under some semblance of control, he nods at him to proceed. The entire event seems so surreal that Monroe is having problems focusing on what Beecher is saying. _

"_Before we begin, is there anyone here that has good cause to believe that this couple should not be legally wed?" The judge asks. _

_Monroe can't help himself. He turns to lock eyes with Rachel, cocking an eyebrow at her in challenge. She only rolls her eyes at him. Charlie elbows her groom in the ribs to get him to turn back around and pay attention. Monroe turns back around and offers the judge a look of apology as he makes a concentrated effort to not grin like an idiot._

_The judge speaks for a while longer before he addresses Monroe, asking him to repeat his words:_

"_I, Sebastian, take you, Charlotte to be my lawful wedded wife, and do promise before these witnesses, to be your loving and faithful husband, in plenty and in want, in joy and in sorrow, in sickness and in health, as long as we both shall live."_

_The judge now turns to Charlie. "Repeat these words: I, Charlotte…" _

"_I, Charlie," she emphasizes her nickname, even now refusing to call herself Charlotte. This has earned a few chuckles from her family. The judge gives her another stern look and then he begins again. Just as he'd done with Monroe, he feeds her the vows she is to repeat a few words at a time._

"_I, Charlie, take you, Sebastian to be my lawful wedded husband, and do promise before these witnesses, to be your loving and faithful wife, in plenty and in want, in joy and in sorrow, in sickness and in health, as long as we both shall live."_

"_Do you have rings?" the judge asks them. _

_He wishes that there'd been time to arrange for something, but at least she has the engagement ring he'd given her. "No –" Monroe begins._

_Daniel stands and cuts him off. "Yes, they do." He slowly comes forward and hands Monroe two simple gold bands. "These were mine and Annie's rings," he says as he locks eyes with Monroe. _

_Monroe's first instinct is to say he can't accept something with so much sentimental value, but he understands the meaning behind it, and accepts with stinging eyes and a nod. Patting him on the shoulder, Daniel returns to his seat._

_Monroe hands what will be his wedding band to Aaron to hold for a few moments. The judge instructs him to place the ring on Charlie's finger and recite more vows. "With this ring, I wed you, and pledge you my love now and forever."_

_Charlie repeats the process, placing the gold ring on Monroe's finger. They hold hands and look in each other's eyes as the judge finishes the ceremony. "By the power invested in me by the true United States of America, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss your bride."_

_Monroe offers Charlie a wicked grin before he pulls her into his arms. He lifts her off the ground as their mouths meet for the first time as a married couple. Just to annoy her family a little he swings her around as he takes the kiss a little deeper than he should. Seeing their mother being swung around, Danny and Angie giggle and squeal with glee and struggle to get down off of Rachel and Priscilla's laps. _

_Monroe sets Charlie down and they bend to pick up their children that are now standing at their feet, desperate to be included. As Connor steps over to congratulate him, Monroe gives him a quick hug with his free arm. Holding the twins, they receive well wishes before heading into the Carter's dining room for dinner._

They were both a little drunk and more than eager by the time they made their escape to the guest house behind the Carter's main residence. The rest of their household had been preparing to leave when they'd slipped way. The fireplace was already lit, courtesy of Jenny Carter. The fire cast a warm, dim glow on the room, creating an almost surreal atmosphere.

Monroe had barely closed the door when he yanked Charlie to him and claimed her mouth. She hung her arms around his neck and opened for him. With a groan, Monroe swept his tongue inside and lost himself in the kiss. Tonight was just for the two of them; tomorrow his departure would loom over them again; for now they had nothing but each other.

The guesthouse was little more than a one room cabin that Jenny had lovingly fixed up for her eldest daughter when she'd been married two years prior. Ashley and her new husband had lived there for just a few months until he'd managed to find a place to settle them in a few towns over. Despite its small size, the guesthouse did have one major advantage: privacy. This was something that was always in short supply in Daniel's home.

Monroe slowly backed Charlie further into the room. "In case I forgot to tell you earlier, you look amazing," he told her as he placed gentle kisses down the side of her neck. He slipped the jacket she'd worn on the way to the cabin off of her and continued to trail his mouth down, pressing his lips lightly on her shoulder.

The feather light touch of his lips on her bare skin sent a shudder through Charlie. She grabbed his face and stood on her toes to reach his mouth for another kiss. She caught his bottom lip between her teeth, nipping at it lightly. He shrugged out of his own jacket and started to run his hands up and down her back. Their tongues met again as they slowly made their way closer to the bed.

Monroe drew one hand up to the nape of her neck and then wound her hair around his fist to get it out of the way while he sought the zipper to her dress with the other. He drew it down slowly, sending a shiver down her spine as his knuckles brushed her skin. When he'd reached the small of her back, he slowly worked his hand back up to the tie that was keeping the halter top of her dress in place. He fiddled with it for a second, but the knot only tightened.

Charlie went to reach up to help him, but before she could touch the tie he turned her around. She pulled her hair to one side so he could see it better. With one hand now splayed on her belly, the other began picking at the knot. Charlie could feel his breath behind her ear. She let out a quiet moan as the sensation left her tingling.

Encouraged, he brought the hand on her belly down and slowly began to play with the fabric of her skirt, drawing it up little by little. Once he had the hem pulled up high enough, he slid his hand under her dress and began to rub the heel of his hand on her pelvis. He pushed her up against him. Charlie could feel him hard behind her. She began to move her bottom in slow circles against him, driving him wild.

When he'd finally worked the knot around her neck free, the top of her dress fell forward, giving him full access to her bare breasts as the dress had not allowed her the luxury of a bra. He brought his other hand around to tease them. Charlie's breath hitched in her throat. She could feel her heart beginning to race as he cupped one breast in his hand, his calloused palm stimulating her nipple exquisitely.

She squirmed in his arms and turned to face him. Her dress caught on her hips, providing him with an enticing view. She yanked his shirt out of the waistband of his jeans as she pulled him with her to close the remaining distance between them and the bed. She felt the mattress hit the back of her knees, and let herself fall back. He made quick work of the buttons of his shirt, tossing it aside as soon as he shrugged out of it.

Monroe leaned over her, kissing her briefly before working his way down to take the hard bud of her nipple in his mouth. He slowly encircled it with his tongue before sucking on it lightly. Charlie could feel the pooling between her legs as his mouth teased and tortured her breast. Without warning, he started to kiss her lower. He paused for a moment on her navel before he started to sink to his knees.

Charlie wiggled her feet out of the boots she'd worn on her way across the Carter's yard. She'd not bothered to lace them, so they were no trouble at all. Monroe reached under her skirt and drew his fingers under the waistband of her panties. He tugged on them lightly and drew them off of her before spreading her thighs. He pulled the material up and placed light kisses atop her pelvic bone.

Charlie let out another moan as he worked his way down further. He traced his tongue up and down ever so lightly. Charlie responded by flexing her hips, willing him to strengthen the contact. He flicked is tongue at her clit. "Please," she begged. With a chuckle, he slowly slid his tongue inside her. She reached down and ran her fingers through his hair, urging his mouth closer to her. As he licked and tasted her intimately, she started to pant.

Suddenly, he stood up. Charlie moaned in frustration, not wanting it to end. He grabbed her dress, finally freeing her from hit completely before undoing his jeans. He paused only long enough to loosen the strings of his boots so he could kick them off. Charlie sat up on the bed and yanked his jeans down. He kicked free of them and his socks, finally fully unclothed. Charlie backed up on the bed so that her legs were no longer dangling off the edge.

Lying down again, she held her arms out to him. With a groan he climbed on the bed and settled himself between thighs. She felt the tip of him probing at her entrance. His mouth found hers as he slowly pressed himself forward to enter her.

Charlie let out a sigh as he sank into her depths. He was sheathed to the hilt within her. He lay there unmoving for several minutes as he kissed her, just enjoying the feeling of being buried in her. Charlie began to buck under him, encouraging him to move. He slowly pulled out half way before sliding back into her again. One hand was under her neck supporting her, while the other found her hand and held on tight. Charlie's free hand flew to his ass, where she dug her nails in.

He groaned in half pleasure, half pain as her nails cut into him. He slowly increased the pace, each time he sank back into her, Charlie rose her hips to meet is. The steady rhythm had her panting, encouraging him to give her more. She began to moan louder with every thrust, her entire body building up slowly. Soon his own moans matched hers. Their fingers locked, they squeezed each other's hands as they both got closer.

His tongue delved deeper into her mouth as they swallowed each other's cries. He was trying desperately to maintain control, but each time he thrust back inside her wet heat, it became increasingly difficult. Their mouths parted and he buried his face in her neck. "I love you," she said into his shoulder as she felt herself climbing closer to her release.

Those words snapped what control he had left, and he began to thrust desperately, madly – his pace becoming erratic. The feel of her tight walls around his pulsing erection became the only thing he was aware of as he pushed them both over the edge. Charlie screamed his name as she started to shatter. I felt like her entire body was exploding as the waves of her orgasm consumed her. As her sheath contracted around him, he erupted. With a shout, Monroe spilled himself deep inside her, splashing her cervix. Overwhelmed with the strength of his own release, all he could do was hold on to her.

They lay there panting with hearts pounding, still joined as one. He lifted his head and looked into her eyes, losing himself in her gaze. This was now his wife, an extension of him. He lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her tenderly. As they slowly came back down to earth, he withdrew from her and rolled off to the side before he crushed her. Their chests rose and fell heavily as they struggled to catch their breaths. The slick sheen of sweat that covered their skin glistened in the dim light from the fire.

Their bodies slowly returned to normal as they lay in the bed just watching one another. Before long, the draft from the window across the room started to make her shiver. He reached down and grabbed the blanket that had worked its way off the bed and drew it over the both of them. Charlie turned to her husband and laid her head on his chest. She drifted off to sleep to the sound of his heartbeat with his arms wrapped around her.

**MORE NOTES! So yeah, I went there. I did a Charloe wedding scene. So sue me (and if I hadn't jumped the shark then, I may just have now) I can't help it, I'm just a sentimental creature. I know that a lot of fics have done this, and I hope I managed to pull it off without accidently copying others. I mean there's only so much you can do with that type of scene.. A wedding is just a hell of a lot of repeat this, repeat that… **

**I tried to do my research regarding the riverboats, and I'm hoping I got it right. From what I can tell, the route is indeed possible, but the time frames are tricky. There's not a lot of info to go by.**

**Anyway, thanks for sticking with me this far folks. I can see maybe 3 or 4 more chapters including the epilogue (which is actually completely done). I appreciate any and all comments or thoughts that you have sent my way, and am grateful for any future ones you may bestow upon me. I admit it, when I post a chapter, I kinda get that feeling you get when you send a risky text, and I keep going back to the traffic graph to see if anyone's bothered to read it. **


	15. Sometimes It Helps If You Kick It

**A/N: This is a rather long chapter, but I wanted to cover the first half of their mission in one chapter. I almost cut out the last part until the next chapter, but I've got a specific format that I have in mind for the next chapter – if it works out the way I want, the narrative style of this one would take away from it. Also, this chapter jumps forward and backward a little in its timeline. The events taking place back in Providence are set a little further in the future than the ones with Miles and Monroe. More notes in the end.**

Monroe and Miles made the joint decision to set up camp several hours outside of St. Louis. Because of his past experience in infiltrating Truman's men, Corporal Walters would be sent in first to do some recon. They would wait until he'd returned before continuing further.

There were a total of thirteen members to their party (something that Monroe never ceased to see the humor in). They'd already decided to split up and enter separately. Monroe would lead Aaron, one of the engineers and three soldiers in, whereas Miles would lead Devon in with his solders and the other engineer.

As they got closer to their destination, tensions were high. Stealing the riverboat was vital to their mission and it was entirely possible that it was the most dangerous part of it. If they were caught, game over. Monroe knew that what he'd gone through at Truman's hands would be a day at the spa in comparison to what would be in store if they didn't get out of St. Louis.

Although he had the luxury of any one of six soldiers keeping watch, Monroe still could not sleep. He was lying in his bedroll watching the clouds blow in from the west and periodically block out the waxing moonlight. He could hear Miles already snoring several feet away. As he tried to quiet his mind, he idly wondered how Rachel could share a bed with the man and not go insane due to lack of sleep. He'd always been loud (countless childhood sleepovers and sharing quarters in the Marines had taught him that), but it seemed to have gotten a hell of a lot worse as he'd gotten older.

Annoyed, Monroe reached in his pack and grabbed Brodie's ball. He threw it at Miles, hitting him in the back. He chuckled as the impact woke Miles up just enough to quiet him. A few seconds later, Brodie came out of nowhere with the ball in his mouth. He curled up next to his master and chewed on it for a few minutes before laying his head on his paws, the ball securely under his muzzle.

_After getting to spend exactly one day as a married couple, Monroe and Charlie prepare to separate for what will at the very least be months, if not permanently. The six man squad that Donovan has sent is already mounted along with Devon and the engineers he's brought with them. _

_Monroe already said his goodbyes to Daniel and Connor earlier. Danny and Angie are still sleeping. He couldn't bear to wake them, so instead he'd just gone into their room and watched them for a few minutes, doing his best to memorize the image of them sleeping so peacefully. They are a huge part of the reason why he's doing this._

_He holds his Charlie in his arms, reluctant to pull away. "You'd better come back to me," she tells him. _

_Monroe kisses her temple and squeezes her tighter in his embrace. "I always do, remember?" He cups her face and their lips meet for the last time in who knows how long. "I love you." Her breath hitches, so she only mouths the words back. Before he can change his mind, Monroe mounts his horse and waits for Miles and Aaron to finish saying their goodbyes._

Monroe crouched down behind a stack of crates, waiting for Miles' signal. Aaron and the engineer that he'd been assigned to work with were not far away, waiting in turn for Monroe to given them his. At three in the morning, Patriot patrols were sparse, but could still present a problem. They'd already taken out three separate two-guard teams, silently slitting throats from behind and then dragging their bodies into the murky waters of the Mississippi River. They had spent the past half hour slowly getting into position.

As it turned out, Walters had been invaluable. For one, the Patriots were no longer having ships unload south of the city. They'd converted what was once known as Laclede's Landing into a wharf for River traffic. When they'd met up with him, the corporal had been able to give them the basic layout as well as had determined the best boat to take.

Twelve men and a dog were a lot to try to sneak on board, but they had no choice. Still, luck was on their side so far. St. Louis had been a border town and as such the locals had been caught in a tug of war between the Monroe Republic and Plains Nation for far too long. They'd welcomed the Patriots with welcome arms. The lack of resistance had lulled the commanding officer here into carelessness. This would work in their favor.

Monroe heard a low whistle, indicating that all was ready on Miles' part. He signaled to Aaron and the engineer to get ready to board the ship. Their counterparts would be escorted onto the ship by Miles. Once given the signal, they'd have roughly ten minutes to get the hell out of there. They'd be pushing it but it was the only chance they had to get out of there without being followed. Monroe whistled back to Miles – it was now or never.

A chain of one low whistle after another drifted back to the other side of the wharf. A few minutes later a warehouse exploded, signaling that it was time. Monroe sprang into action. Keeping low, he made his way to the gangplank with Brodie at his side. The distraction had the desired effect; the men guarding the deck of their chosen vessel had rushed to the aft of the ship to see what was going on, giving them the opportunity to board the ship. Monroe took the lead with Aaron and the engineer behind him. The three soldiers that made up the rest of his group followed in the rear.

Miles' group was not far behind them. Monroe and one of the solders crept to where the four guards watched the conflagration in the distance. Coming up behind them with swords drawn they were dispatched before they had a chance to react. A growl and snarl from the port side send Monroe investigating. Brodie had another guard by the leg. While the Patriot was distracted, Monroe ran him through.

Miles led the engineers to the boiler so they could get the fire started, while Monroe doubled back to make sure Aaron and Devon got into position. By his estimation, only two or three minutes had passed. The rest of the soldiers spread out to make sure that there were no other Patriots or Civilians on board. Leaving Aaron and Devon, Monroe ran to the gangway to cut the ropes that secured it to the starboard side. His men had returned and were now working on severing the anchor line.

The sound of shouting from the levee did not bode well – they had company. "Dammit," Monroe muttered as he ordered his men to take position. Raising his rifle, Monroe took aim and fired in rapid succession at the Patriots that approached. All six of Donovan's guys now stood with Monroe. "Split up, two on the bow, two aft, the rest stay with me," Monroe ordered them.

Miles showed up a few seconds later. "We still need a few more minutes for the boiler to get hot," he said as he took a few shots.

"We don't have a few minutes. If we don't get moving now, the Patriots are going to be the least of our problems," Monroe said as he kept shooting, taking down anything in khaki that approached. "We're not going to make it."

"We'll make it," Miles said as he left to help defend the bow of the ship.

A few moments later the ship's whistle sounded. "Finally!" Monroe shouted. The vessel slowly pulled out of is berth. Little by little they began to pick up speed. He held his breath as he calculated the time that had passed in his head. They were just passing the ruins that were once the Gateway Arch when the remaining ships at the dock started to explode one after another. Monroe took cover as the ship closest to them went off, sending splintered wood and twisted metal their way. A grunt of pain off to his left indicated that somebody did not move fast enough.

Keeping low just in case the Patriots had patrols stationed up river, he went to check on the men. One of them had taken a large sliver of wood in the arm, but other than that they'd managed to get away unscathed. The Patriots did their best to give chase, but by the time word had spread that someone had stolen a supply ship, they were already gone.

Once they were safely away, Miles worked his way back up to the main deck. "See Bass, I told you we were going to make it."

Monroe rolled his eyes at Miles as he wound a bandage around his wounded man's bicep. "Cutting it a bit close, don't you think?"

_Providence: December 29_

_Charlie stands in Donovan's command tent, arguing over how to handle the latest turn of events. Rumors have been spreading like wildfire about increased Patriot aggression throughout the region. A civilian riot had broken out shortly after the occupation of Frankfort. Reports estimated the casualties to be in the hundreds. _

_The pre-blackout capital of Kentucky had slowly been rebuilt and had served as a trade hub for the Georgia Federation. Now it was reduced to rubble and ashes. This turn of events could change everything. Sentiments in Providence towards the patriots had ranged from ambivalent to distrustful before the razing of Frankfort, but their little resistance had remained careful because of the spies and hidden supporters the Patriots had placed all over the continent. Now even a few of the known Patriot sympathizers were speaking out against them. _

_Donovan now insisted that with the majority of the locals outraged that they needed to take advantage and reveal his presence in Providence. Charlie is not yet convinced. "If you out yourself, you're essentially outing my entire family," she reminds him. "We don't even know if they made it out of St. Louis yet. If they are still there or have been captured, revealing yourself could get them killed - if they haven't been already." _

_Challenger to the presidency or not, Donovan still needs her family's help whether he likes it or not. He decides to tread lightly. "It's a risk, but it's one that I am willing to take." It has been three weeks with no word, meaning it's entirely possible that Monroe and Matheson have failed. If this is the case, Donovan will need new allies, and taking advantage of the communal rage that the people are experiencing may get him that. "If the mission has failed, we will have to build up an army from scratch. Now is the time to start that process."_

"_This isn't just some mission. This is my family out there, risking their lives to help you overthrow Davis," she argues._

_Donovan sighs. "I'll give it two more days. If there's no word after that we have move on as if they didn't make it out. I'm sorry Mrs. Monroe, but this is war. Unless you wish to raise your children in hiding, we have to come up with a backup plan."_

_Charlie stalks out of the tent. She runs face first into a soldier. She apologizes before she even looks up. As she does so she looks right into the eyes of Scott Walters. "You're back?"_

"_Ma'am," he addresses her. "Yes, I just got in. I stopped by the farmhouse on the way in but they said you were here. I thought you'd like to hear the news."_

"_What happened?" Charlie's voice trembles. They'd expected him several days ago, and she is almost afraid to hear the answer. His delay suggests that there may have been problems. "We expected you to be back already."_

"_I stayed behind to make sure they got away and to do a little recon. They must have made it to Illinois and so far the Patriots haven't even figured out who stole their boat." He smiles in admiration. When he'd been assigned to this mission, he'd thought it was doomed to fail. He is clearly impressed that they actually pulled it off. _

_Charlie's eyes fill with tears of relief. "Thank you, Corporal." She whispers before walking away. She bursts in the door when she gets home. "They made it!" she announces when she enters the kitchen where the rest of the household is gathered for dinner._

Chicago, December 19th

Monroe stood on the bow of the riverboat as Devon guided it close to the banks of the Illinois River. They were just south of the city. After much discussion they decided to scout the area out before revealing their presence. They'd have to slow down considerably as they navigated the Channel that would take them into Lake Michigan. It was too risky to do this without knowing what was going on around them.

Despite Aaron's protests both former generals had decided to enter the city together, with the rest remaining behind. With Walters no longer with them, they were the best people for the job. On top of that, Miles still had contacts that may prove useful.

A few hours later they slipped into the city unnoticed. The hoods of their coats at least provided some concealment as they wound through the streets of Chicago. They quickly discovered that all hell had broken loose in the past two years. The city had once been a staging point for the Militia. Soldiers had been sent here to await orders that would disperse them throughout what used to be Illinois and Indiana.

Since the bombs dropped the Militia had deserted their posts and had split up into several different factions. One of them seemed to be largely in control of the city and the majority of supplies while the remaining factions vied for scraps. They sought out a "friend" of Miles' from his time here in exile. He had been a rebel sympathizer and had occasionally been used to ferry information along.

"How you doing, Abe?" Miles said as the door to the old barbershop opened.

The small Jewish man did a double take when he saw Miles Matheson standing on his stoop. "Miles! What are you doing back in the city?"

"A little bit of sightseeing. Figured I'd catch a Cubs game while I was here and after that maybe visit Shedd Aquarium."

"Huh?" Abe said in confusion.

Miles just rolled his eyes. "Are you going to let me in or not? I'll explain when I'm not standing in the street like a vagrant."

He slowly stepped aside to let Miles in. Miles stepped forward to enter with Monroe directly behind him. Abe had not seen his second visitor so was a little uneasy when he realized that Miles was not alone. "Who's your friend?" Abe asked.

Monroe took off his hood and turned around. It took a second for his host to realize exactly who he'd let into his home. "Is that… No, you wouldn't have. You brought Monroe here?"

"Relax. I'm not here looking for rebels." Monroe reassured him. "Well I am, but not like that."

"We need your help, Abe," Miles cut in. Over the next few minutes Miles explained what they were doing in town. "We need coal, ammo and food. Can you help us?"

Abe sighed nervously. The Patriots had not bothered with Chicago up until this point. There was too much violence and chaos here and the seemingly hadn't wanted to risk their men yet. But, all of the factions were well aware of the threat that they imposed. It was one of the few things that had kept them from wiping each other out. At some point, they may need to work together to keep them out.

"I might know someone who can help. There is a small faction that has been fighting to keep the peace. They were the last of the Militia to desert and have made a few friends as well. Let me see what I can do" Abe instructed them to stay put while he sought out his contact. A little later he returned. "This is Lieutenant Martinez, leader of the faction I was telling you about."

A few hours later, they had more help than they'd bargained for. It took a day of planning but they'd found a way not only out of the city but were able to trade the old riverboat for a more efficient lake steamer, and this time they didn't have to fight their way out to do it.

January 17 - Providence

Charlie and Rachel were at the kitchen table with Bob Beecher. They had been working on a backup plan to evacuate and defend the town if the need should ever arise. After Corporal Walters had returned with the good news, Donovan had revealed himself and his intentions to the town. It had been a very tense few days following that.

At least already having the Sheriff in on things had helped. Charlie still got a few odd glances in town because of her relationship with Monroe, but most of the people were willing to follow Beecher's lead. If the Sheriff had known and had been willing to let him go free, most of their neighbors figured there must have been a very good reason why.

Donovan had lent a few of his men to help protect the town, but he kept the camp where it was. Its location was better and he didn't want to make it look like he was occupying the town. There was enough animosity after the massacre in Frankfort and he was trying his best to set himself apart from his rivals. If an attack came, Donovan promised to aid them but they needed to be able to hold the Patriots off until then. That was where the Matheson's came in. This was their resistance, after all.

Daniel shuffled into the kitchen. "Riders comin' in – armed." He said gruffly. Charlie sprang into action. She ran for her crossbow as Rachel rang the bell out back to signal the hands and Gene to come in. Charlie poked her head into the living room to warn Priscilla who was keeping the twins entertained so Charlie and Rachel could plot in peace.

"Keep them out of sight until we know it's safe," she said.

By the time the five riders came up on the house, they were ready. Charlie stood with her crossbow loaded and aimed while her mom and two of the farm hands had rifles pointed at them as well. The rider in the lead held up a hand to slow his men. He dismounted and approached the front porch. "That's close enough!" Charlie warned. He stopped a dozen yards or so in front of her.

Charlie watched him carefully. He was dressed in an odd combination of Militia uniform and civilian clothes. "I'm looking for Charlie Monroe," he said as he held his arms up so she could see he meant no harm.

Charlie kept him in her sights but she slowly advanced towards him. She stopped just far enough away to keep out of arms reach. "Well you've found her. What do you want?"

The stranger reached into his coat. The sounds of several guns cocking echoed around them. He pulled some folded pages from the inner pocket of the garment. "You're husband sends his regards along with this letter," he says as he hands it to her.

Charlie breaks the wax that seals the pages from prying eyes. She glances down to see Monroe's bold script. "It' okay, stand down!" she calls over her shoulder. Knowing that Monroe wouldn't have sent any communication with someone he didn't trust, Charlie turned and headed back to the porch. She sat with her crossbow in her lap for a few minutes as she contemplated the letter in her hands. She took a deep breath and lowered her gaze to read.

_December 20, 2030_

_Hey Charlie,_

_Hopefully by now Walters has returned so you know I'm still among the living. Sorry Baby, you can't get rid of me that easily. We got out of St. Louis no worse for wear. Pvt. Riley took a chunk of wood in the arm, but that was about it. I have to admit, stealing the boat was kind of fun – plus we got to blow shit up; always a good time. _

_Whatever the hell cocktail your mom cooked up worked perfectly. It took about ten minutes for the acid to eat through the plastic, then BOOM. Don't tell her this, but her aptitude at creating explosives out of nothing makes her probably one of the scariest people well, ever._

_Anyway, so far things have gone pretty well, all things considered. We met no resistance on our way up the Illinois. The Patriots know they have a boat missing but they must have thought we'd head down the Missouri, because they don't seem to have a clue where to look._

_Chicago is a mess, but that is working to our advantage. We've gotten some help. First thing in the morning, we're supposed to have a lake steamer and fresh supplies. Our help has come from an odd faction consisting of former Militia and the rebels. Interesting how bad times can bring people together, but then again I guess we're the prime example of that, aren't we?_

_I'm entrusting this letter to Martinez and am sending you a hundred trained men and women to join the cause. Tell Donovan he owes me a drink when I get back in thanks._

_It should take us 2 days to get up Lake Michigan and make it around to Sault Ste. Marie via Superior. We're cutting it close. We have to see what's there and then get going again before the lakes freeze. I'm starting to doubt that we'll get to the St. Lawrence River before it's frozen for the season, so we'll probably have to go on foot. It'll add to our trip, needless to say._

_Enough shop talk. I miss you and the kids so much. I wish I didn't have to be here. It'll be Christmas in just a few days. We missed it last year since we were on the run and I hate that we're going to miss it now. I already missed the twins' birthday because of these star-spangled fucks. Guess we can add that to the long list of shit they've stolen from everybody. I hope there's a special place in hell for men like Jack Davis – and hopefully it's nowhere near the spot that's reserved for me._

_I swear when this is over we're getting away for a few days – just the four of us. And when we get back from that, I'm locking you up with me in Avery's guest house for a week to make up for lost time. Hope everything is okay back home. Tell Rachel I'm not corrupting Miles too badly. He still has most of his liver intact at any rate. Aaron is doing well. He's a lot more adept at piloting a boat than he is at riding a horse, that's for sure. As much as he complains about being away from home, I think deep down he's enjoying this little adventure._

_Martinez is getting ready to part ways with us, so I'd better end this quickly. Give Danny and Angie a hug and a kiss for me and send Connor my regards Tell Daniel I said to take it easy (and please make sure he actually does it). _

_I love you with all that I am and will do my best to get home to you as soon as I can. I'm not sure when I'll be able to send word again, but I'll try to get a message to you soon._

_Love,_

_Bass_

The letter had taken almost a month to reach her. Later, as Charlie curled up alone in their bed she took the letter out again to re-read it in private.

December – Sault Ste. Marie

They made it Sault Ste. Marie without incident. The lake steamer that Martinez had procured for them came with a captain with a lot of experience with the Great Lakes as well as a skeleton crew. With Donovan, Aaron and the two engineers they had more than enough men to keep the ship moving around the clock. Neither Miles nor Monroe had realized how poorly executed their plan had been until they'd dealt with their new captain. Maybe they would have made it, maybe not – but the lakes were nothing like the rivers.

Captain Gray had made sure to inform them on multiple occasions that the riverboat they'd stolen could have very well resulted in nothing more than an untimely death by drowning this close to the end of the shipping season. Plus, would it have ever given them the speed needed to make it east before the lakes froze.

They made the port in just two days. The goal was to get Monroe to the mouth of the St. Lawrence by New Year's. This gave them two days to get any soldiers they may find committed to Donovan before they pressed on. The journey across the lake would take a week and Monroe was adamant that he have an extra day of leeway.

As they pulled into port they caused quite a stir. The dock workers quickly set up the gangplank, but as soon as Monroe set foot on it twenty armed men came out of nowhere. One of them spoke up, clearly being in charge. "It's been a while since we've seen anything but local traffic here. Identify yourselves."

"That depends on who's asking," Miles shot back.

"Sergeant Jacob Laughlin, Peninsular Army – formerly of the Monroe Militia." The young man called out. Monroe and Miles shared a look. They both found the introduction interesting. "Now who exactly are you?"

"Generals Matheson and Monroe of the United States Army, also formerly of the Monroe Militia," Monroe announced. He held his breath as he waited for the younger man to process his words. He knew he was taking a big chance with the way he'd chosen to introduce them.

The sergeant looked utterly confused. "That _what_?"

Miles gave the order for everyone but the current crew on duty to appear on deck and unarmed. They only needed enough men below deck to make a run for it if they ran into further trouble. "Why don't you board us and we'll talk?" Miles suggested.

Laughlin considered this for a few moments before he turned to give an order to one of his men. Cautiously he made his way up the gangplank with nine of his brethren. They searched the ship, noting that while they had enough in the way of weapons to cause trouble, at least no one on board (except for the two so-called generals) no one was currently armed.

On hour and several drinks later, Laughlin agreed to send word to his superiors about their presence on the Peninsula and of their reason for being there. He refused to offer any promises, but all things considered it was better than they'd hoped for. Monroe and Miles had both been keenly aware that there had been a definite possibility that they'd be shot as soon as they'd been identified.

A messenger arrived two hours later with instructions to bring them in for a meeting. The man in charge was one Captain Shawn Harrison. After word had gotten out about the destruction of Philadelphia and the disappearance of the president-general of the Republic, their commanding officer had deserted. Harrison had stepped up to take command of all 1,200 soldiers assigned to protecting the northern border and policing the area. He'd called them all in to the base outside of the city, but only 900 men had heeded that call (or survived the return trip).

He'd been unwilling to force any man to serve without knowing whether or not he'd even be paid for their loyalty, but Harrison had not been willing to abandon his post himself. With all of the Patriot activity south and west of the area, they were a little stuck. With little to do other than hold down the fort, Harrison had been rotating soldiers in and out of active duty for two years. In that time since, the region had established itself as a new and independent state, simply known as The Peninsula.

Miles and Monroe explained about Donovan and that he had a legitimate challenge to the presidency. They took the time to give Harrison a basic rundown of all the crimes that Jack Davis had committed against not only the people but of neighboring nations as well. This made the captain nervous. If the Patriots had destroyed the Monroe Republic and the Georgia Federation before attempting to pull a coup on Texas then they could very well go after Canada next. They would be caught in the crossfire.

"So will you help us?" Miles finally asked after hours of talking. Monroe sat back for this part of negotiations. If Harrison agreed, his men would be fighting directly under Miles. It was important to their cause (and to his own sanity) that he and Miles be seen as equals. After all, it wasn't the Republic they were being asked to defend. It was the entire United States that called upon any aid it could receive.

Harrison hesitated. "I'll need to discuss it with m men. Most of them have settled down since the bomb destroyed Philly. I won't drag them from their homes and families without their consent."

"Fair enough," Miles replied. "But we need an answer soon."

After spending the next day in a holding pattern they were informed that the regiment had voted to fight with an understanding that until such time that the U.S. could be established in reality, they would fight as allies only – not a subordinate army. If they managed to survive the Patriots and reestablish the federal government, then Harrison would be willing to address the permanent assignments of his men.

Providence, February

Charlie sat on her bed, a folded letter in her hands. She'd not yet opened it. Just knowing it was from him made her feel like her world was just a little bit better. Miles had ridden in just a few hours ago. After debriefing with Donovan he'd returned home to spend one precious day with Rachel, Charlie and his great-niece and nephew. After which, he'd be returning to where his men were camped just east of Jackson, Missouri awaiting his return and orders from Donovan.

Danny and Angie were excited to play with their father's oldest friend and had climbed all over him for hours. Miles would never admit it aloud, but he enjoyed the attention. If he took the occasional foot or knee to the junk as they climbed and pounced, well he'd recover. After the twins were put to bed, Miles had retreated to the bedroom with Rachel, leaving Charlie free to read her letter in private. In the quiet of her room, she finally broke the seal.

_December 24, 2030_

_Charlie,_

_By the time you get this, I'll hopefully be on my way back, weather permitting. It will take about a week for us to get to the mouth of the St. Lawrence and another three or four days from there to get to the bay. We're pushing it, I know. So far the temperature has been mild – at least that's what the locals in Sault Ste. Marie have been telling me. I think they're fucking crazy, because I've been freezing my balls off since we left Chicago._

_I won't bore you with all the details of our mission here. If you're reading this then Miles has already told you all of it by now. By the way, whatever he's told you about me is a damn lie and I reserve the right to defend myself at a later date except for the bit about the snow. That's real and I won't apologize. He's had it coming since the tenth grade._

_We're about to disembark now. I guess I don't really have much more to report except that I love you and miss you and the kids, and I wish this was all over so I could come home to you._

_All my love,_

_Bass_

Charlie folded the letter and put it away in the dresser next to the other one. She hated that she couldn't write him back, but there'd be no way to get it to him. As she climbed into bed, she idly wondered what happened when her uncle and husband were teenagers that deserved the retaliation of bribing dozens of teenagers to pelt Miles with an onslaught of snow while they were in Sault Ste. Marie.

Apparently, after the initial assault (which had gone on mercilessly for twenty minutes) the harassment had continued until the army had moved out. Miles had told her that every time he'd turned a corner in town he'd taken a snowball to the face. He'd almost forgotten Monroe's childish love of immature pranks – he'd given up the practice when he'd taken up the role of President of the Republic.

Six weeks had passed since Monroe had written the second letter. She was a little worried. In that time he should have been close enough to send some type of word. With no news, they didn't even know if he'd made it to St. John. For all she knew they'd been sunk and drowned.

In the time since his last letter, Charlie had been very busy. They'd put the men from Chicago to good use and have kept the Patriots at bay so far. There'd been a minor skirmish with a few scouting parties, but after Frankfort, the Patriots have kept a low profile in the area.

Donovan had set up a recruitment camp of his own between Providence and Franklin. Their training takes a bit longer, a month and a half but the difference is that their troops are willing. 75 trained soldiers were graduating with their first class in a few days, and 100 new enlistees were ready to start shortly thereafter.

They'd also taken on six more displaced hands to work the farm. With more mouths to feed than ever, the local farms will not only have to keep the town well fed but they will also have to help supply an army. Lean times loom in the future but the people of Providence had become dedicated to the cause very quickly. There'd been more than a few former Federation soldiers that had volunteered to fight under Donovan. Things were really starting to pull together. Now if only there was some word from Monroe, they could reach out to Texas and finally go on the offensive.

Somewhere along Lake Erie, December 29.

Monroe's luck did not hold out. They would never make it to Lake Ontario. The Welland Channel that connected the two easternmost lakes had frozen over. Captain Gray suggested that they make port in Lackawanna on the old Republic side of the lake. Although it was a risk, Aaron and Gray could make the negotiations for supplies before they snuck Monroe out. As long as they avoided any major former republic settlements, they should be able to make the journey north to New Brunswick. It was unfortunate that their course had only saved them a little over a week, but they had to take what they could get. It would be at least a three week journey to St. John, if they were lucky.

It only took a few hours to double back towards their destination. Monroe was below deck as the ship pulled into its berth. It wouldn't do to be seen. They really didn't know what they'd find here. The community had been thriving at one point before the collapse of the Republic, but they didn't know if the Patriots had gone around the fallout zone or not.

Monroe was quietly contemplating the drink in his hand with Brodie at his feet in the galley when Aaron burst in. He looked up to see that Aaron appeared quite winded an excited. "What's wrong?"

"You've got to come up and see this," Aaron said before turning around and heading back up.

Monroe downed his drink. With a shrug he got up and followed. Sensing the excitement Brodie ran after him, not to be left out. When he reached the deck, he could not believe what he saw. There before him was the flag of the Monroe Republic waving defiantly in the breeze. "What the hell?"

Aaron and the three remaining soldiers were already standing on the dock. He took a deep breath and slowly made his way down the gangplank to join them. Men – in Militia uniform were scattered around the dock working alongside civilians. Monroe was waiting for the other shoe to drop. At some point he was about to get a gun to the face, he was sure. Instead, when he'd reached the others he was surprised once more. "Sir!" The sergeant standing next to Aaron immediately saluted him.

Monroe just stood and stared for a second before turning to Aaron. "What the hell is going on here?"

Aaron nodded in the direction of the sergeant. The poor man was still standing there saluting him. His training demanded that he hold the position until Monroe gave him leave to do otherwise. Rolling his eyes, he saluted the man back. The man lowered his hand and stood at attention. Before he could say anything further the rest of the soldiers and stopped working and assembled behind the sergeant.

Monroe looked around him, becoming more uncomfortable by the minute. "Stop that, you don't have to –" He drug a hand through his hair. "At ease." He felt the panic rise. This wasn't what he'd expected, nor was it what he'd wanted.

"General, permission to speak freely," the sergeant said.

"Huh, what?" Monroe looked at the man. He was rather young, maybe thirty and looked every bit the part of his position. "Granted," he said.

"Welcome to Lackawanna. It is good to see you sir," he said.

Monroe just nodded and slowly backed up. Not taking his eyes off of the scene before him, he made his way up the gangplank. He'd deny it later but right now he was making a complete retreat. Aaron and Gray shared an awkward look. "He's probably forgotten something on the ship," Aaron explained to the sergeant before turning around and following Monroe back to the ship.

He found Monroe back in the galley tossing down another drink. "What is going on here, Aaron?" he asked when he realized he wasn't alone.

"From what we've been told, everything north of the fallout zone is intact – apparently you didn't have to reform anything. There is still a Monroe Republic and they still consider you their leader," Aaron began.

"What? How is this even possible?" He started pacing the room. "What does this mean? What about those nano-thingies?"

Aaron shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."

The panic that he'd been fighting back on the dock now bubbled over. "Donovan's report said that there may be soldiers near St. John. They didn't say anything about this." He stopped pacing and whipped around to face Aaron. "What the hell am I supposed to do?"

"Maybe this can work to our advantage," he replied. "Think about it. They're already happy to follow you."

Monroe sank back down in the chair and held his head in his hands. "Are they? Or are they just afraid to say otherwise? It didn't exactly end well and my reputation wasn't exactly stellar anywhere in the Republic towards the end."

Aaron looked at Monroe like he was an idiot. "Seriously? You might be able to kill a man with your bare hands, but you are only one guy. Afraid of you or not, you've been gone long enough that if they wanted you dead they'd just kill you." His condescending tone came as quite a shock. "You could, oh I don't know, go back out there and find out what's been going on up here for the past two years."

Eventually Monroe pulled himself together and faced the men waiting anxiously on the dock. It was almost surreal as he was greeted with excitement and respect. The sergeant directed him to one Captain Roberts when Monroe asked who was overseeing the installation in Lackawanna.

Roberts was evasive but did inform Monroe that all commanding officers were under permanent instructions to immediately escort their President and General to the provisional capital on Rochester should he ever return to take his rightful place. Not knowing what else to do, Monroe, Aaron and the three U.S. soldiers set out with their armed escort to Rochester.

The journey took four days, during which time the platoon that escorted them insisted that Monroe be treated with every respect due to his station. The U.S. guys were accepted as Monroe's personal guards. It was the only way that he was able to get them passed his so-called militia. By the time that they reached their destination, Monroe's nerves were well frayed. He'd been saluted and sirred to death.

Their entrance into Rochester was no better. It seemed that a rider had gone out ahead and informed the inhabitants of his impending arrival. They were slowly lead through the winding streets until they came to a rather large brick building in the center of the city. Monroe kept his head up and tried to ignore the men he passed as they were led up the stairs of what he'd been informed was serving as the capital building. The structure appeared to have once been a bank.

They were led to an office on the second floor that clearly had belonged to the bank's president at one point. The double doors were opened for him. Monroe stepped inside with his companions right behind him. A man stood looking out the windows behind the desk. "You're all dismissed," he told the guards. Monroe watched as all of the militia men saluted him before taking their leave, closing the door quietly behind them.

Monroe opened his mouth to speak when their host turned around. He leaned over to Aaron. "Okay, either I just went crazy or those nano-things are fucking with me again," he said quietly.

Aaron just shook his head. "Neither," he replied indicating that he was seeing the same person Monroe was.

"Jeremy," Monroe said cautiously with a nod of his head.

Jeremy Baker came out from behind the desk and approached. "Head or gut," he said as he stood a few feet away from his former friend and leader.

"Excuse me?" Monroe said, having not really recovered from the shock of seeing what he was sure had been a dead man.

"Okay, both then." Before anyone could react, Jeremy swung low and punched Monroe in the stomach with all of his might. The blow knocked the wind right out of him, causing him do double over just enough for him to land a second punch in his jaw, snapping Monroe's head back.

Donovan's men immediately drew their side arms and pointed them at the assailant. Their instructions had been very clear: keep Monroe alive and unharmed so he could complete his mission; take him out if he betrayed Donovan. "Stand down, Riley," Monroe said when his breath came back. "I'm pretty sure I deserved that."

"No, what you deserve is to be taken out back and given a complete total beat down. But that would be bad for morale, you fucking asshole," Baker snapped. "You ordered me killed."

Monroe gave Aaron a pleading look and then turned back to Jeremy. Aaron took the hint and led the soldiers out of the room. Apparently these two men had a lot to talk about. "How are you even here?"

Jeremy went back to the window and looked down at the circle below. "You know, for a paranoid psycho, one would think you'd have picked your own guards. I was in charge of your security after Miles left, remember? The men you ordered to kill me were my guys. Of course they weren't going to kill me. I did have to take a bullet to the shoulder so there'd be enough blood. Next time you order someone executed for a crime they didn't commit, maybe you ought to watch to make sure they're actually killed, you dumbass."

Monroe sat down on one of the two leather chairs that were positioned for guests in front of the desk. "God, Jeremy I am so sorry. I was so – sick back then," he said, not knowing how else to explain it.

He turned around and sat down behind the desk. "No, you were a goddamn fucking paranoid lunatic back then. What the hell happened to you? I was the last friend you had on this earth, the only one of them that actually knew you and gave a damn about you. And what did that get me? You ordered me executed on a fucking whim."

They talked for a while, Jeremy explaining how he'd come to be the temporary leader of what was essentially the last intact portion of the Monroe Republic. He'd been in Uttica in hiding after Monroe had ordered him killed and had remained there until the bombs had gone off. The risk of fallout had kept everyone north of a certain point. Essentially they were isolated from the rest of the continent. Aggression from Quebec had kept them from going the northern route to join up with the rest of the Militia, so here they'd stayed.

Fearing total chaos, he'd quickly realized that the Northern Republic (as it now was called) needed some type of leader before things fell apart. So, he'd promoted himself to colonel, stepped up and taken on the job. It had been months before they'd really heard anything, and even then it wasn't much. They knew that Monroe had not been in Philly when the bomb dropped, but that was about it. They'd only recently found out about the collapse of the rest of the Republic and the Patriots.

As far as they knew, New Jersey, Connecticut, Rhode Island and Delaware were total wastelands now. Massachusetts was just iffy. Without having any scientific community to tell them where was safe and where wasn't, Jeremy had recalled the division that was stationed in Boston and they'd stayed well north of the fallout zone.

Knowing that it was the easiest way to get people to follow him, Jeremy had led under the guise that he was only doing so while Monroe was in absentia. For appearances the Northern Republic had remained loyal to their President and General, but Jeremy had never actually expected him to return. The orders to bring him home were only a formality.

He'd run things as he'd seen fit and they'd prospered in the process. He'd overturned some of the harsher laws that had oppressed the people and had kept the Militia in check. The army now protected the citizens from invasion from Quebec without stealing all their food and abusing the power they were given.

"You've done well, Jeremy. I'll admit it. Far better than I ever did," Monroe finally told him. "How many men survived the bombs?"

"All of them," Jeremy said with a smile.

Monroe was taken aback. "They entire third division?"

"All 7,000 of them give or take a hundred."

Monroe closed his eyes and said a silent prayer. "Thank God." He rose from his chair and let Aaron back in, dismissing his "guards" for the night. "Take a seat Aaron, we've got a lot of work to do."

**A/n2: I debated on whether or not to include Jeremy at all. I know a few other fics have done this (Nod to Sally_Port on A03 here). More than anything I wanted to include the head or gut scene (yep, I stole that line from the Last Boy Scout and I'm not ashamed to admit it). I am curious to see what people think of the letters because the format I'd like to use on the next chapter to describe the patriot war will be via letters back and forth between Monroe and Charlie – to kind of give it a civil war tone… Anyway thanks for the support and comments thus far!**


	16. Next Time, I'm Hiring Someone To Do This

**A/N: Warning, I've done my best to account for logistics but the fact of the matter is, if I allowed time to pass more realistically, well our boys would be out there fighting for a year or two. There was a reason the Civil War took over 4 years – it's hard to move a lot of people quickly. So, as you read this (slight spoiler alert) assume that there are couriers and trains running in the background all over the place just for the express purpose of getting info back and forth between everybody. **

**I tried to wrack my brain to figure out a way for them to communicate faster but the only other pre 20****th**** century form of long distance communication that would be practical would have been telegraph, which requires electricity (grrrrr….).**

**Anyway, so please accept my poetic license, so to speak with it comes to time frames. It got to the point that I this chapter would never get written if I kept looking into it. More notes end.**

_January 15, 2031_

_Charlie,_

_Well I've got good news, bad news and disturbing news. The bad news is that I'm not on my way back yet and may not be for well over a month, if not longer. The good news is that when I do head home I will be bringing 7,000 seasoned soldiers with me – almost half of the original Militia. _

_We never made it to St. John. The channel between Lakes Eerie and Ontario was frozen over already. We put into port at Lackawanna instead (Lackawanna was part of Southtown Buffalo before the blackout) And now for the disturbing news: I didn't exactly see the welcome to the area that I expected._

_Instead of a gun in my face I was welcomed with the flag of the Republic and a salute. The entire northeast still operates as the Monroe Republic under Captain Jeremy Baker in my name. Actually, it's Colonel Baker now. He's given himself a promotion. They're calling it the Northern Republic these days. _

_He says he did it to keep the people from falling apart like they did after the blackout. The northeast has remained completely isolated from the rest of the rubble that we called the Monroe Republic. They'd only known about the Patriots for a few weeks before I'd arrived. I've got to admit he's done a commendable job over the past two years. There's enough food to go around, the civilians aren't living in fear and they've managed to keep Quebec from invading. In order to keep things under control, he's had to pull of one hell of a PR campaign in my name. _

_Charlie, I've got to tell you this whole thing terrifies me. Jeremy did his job too well. Now that I'm here I'm fully expected to just pick up where I left off (minus the crazy) and take everything back over. Not that Jeremy wants to turn the reins over, but when you've got 7,000 soldiers and the majority of the civilian population expecting it, there's not much else he can do. Anyway, I know that this whole thing is just temporary, but what if I can't let it go? The consequences will be worse than you could ever imagine. _

_God, I wish we didn't have to be doing this. After so many years of fighting and blood and regret, all I want is to just raise our kids and run the farm and ignore all of this. Please tell me news from home. How are the kids? Daniel? The farm? Hell, how's your mom? Tell me anything so I don't forget why I'm doing this, because I'm so scared that when this is all over there won't be anything left. _

_It will be spring before the majority of the troops are ready to head south, but in the meantime I will send what men I can. Most likely we won't come to Providence directly but will go on the offensive as we work our way south. I know it's not what we've planned but the delays have only given them a chance to increase their numbers. _

_The men that I am sending will set up camps along the way between Rochester and Providence. Kind of a Pony Express, if you will. We need a faster way to get information back and forth, so this is the only thing I can think of until spring. I'll keep my hopes up that something from you will find its way north soon. I love you all and miss you. _

_Always,_

_Bass_

Charlie folded the letter and put it in her jacket pocket. The scout that had brought it had immediately left to seek out Donovan, most likely with reports from Monroe on the state of things in New England. The idea of the Republic being largely intact above the fallout zone worried her. She knew he had every intention of returning home, but this was a big temptation. The power that came with ruling the republic had corrupted him so much that if it scared him now, it must be pulling him back in.

Charlie finished up in the dairy and collected the twins who were playing with Sarah Carter in the hay. "Hey Sarah, when you get home, can you do me a favor? I'd like you to ask your sister Katie to stop by tomorrow, if she's got the time." Determined, Charlie walked the kids back to the house for lunch. The field hands had already come in for the meal and were gathered on the back porch waiting for Rachel and Priscilla to pass their food out. Charlie made a mental note to get their pay from Daniel so it would be ready the following day.

She got Danny and Angie settled with their plates and watched them alternate between eating and playing with the bits of cheese and chicken before them. At least when they tossed the occasional tidbit it was only at each other. She knew she should really be putting a stop to it, but they were squealing with delight as they took aim with their edible missiles.

"Wow, they're just like Dad and Miles, aren't they?" Connor said from the doorway.

Charlie laughed. "Yeah, they act like toddlers sometimes, don't they?" She watched as Connor sat down next to his little sister and pulled a piece of shredded chicken out of her hair. "I didn't know you were here."

"Priscilla's cooking is better than that shit they call food in Donovan's camp, so I snuck away for lunch," he said as he began to look pitiful for Priscilla's benefit. The woman in question just rolled her eyes as she set a plate down in front of him. Angie immediately started to climb from her high chair, reaching for the table and for the goodies his lunch promised. "Oh no you don't!" He picked up his plate and tried to scoot it out of reach. When it was obvious she wasn't going to give up, he plucked her up and set her in his lap, resigned to sharing. "So, I take it you heard about the Republic?" He did not look happy.

_February 19, 2030_

_Hey Monroe,_

_I just got the letter you sent with Miles only a few days before the last one. I'd been hoping that you'd get to talk to me in person long before another letter had a chance to make it south, but I'll take your written words over none at all._

_Miles should be getting back to the men from the Peninsula any day now. He only stayed for one day before he headed back. He left them in a town called Jackson – it's in Missouri. Donovan has given him the mission of reclaiming St. Louis from the Patriots. If we can take the city it will go a long way towards moving supplies up river. After your little boat heist, the Patriots have put the city on lock down. There have been rumors of unrest there as well. _

_As soon as Donovan got your news about the troops up north he sent Connor towards Texas to ask for aid. It's more than we'd expected, so hopefully Texas will feel comfortable adding to those numbers. It will still be forever before we hear anything though. _

_We were all shocked to learn that the Monroe Republic still exists in some form. It completely freaked Connor out. At first I thought he was mad that it was there all along and out of his reach, but now I'm not so sure. Between his reaction and what you said in your letter about consequences I get the feeling that there's something you're not telling me._

_Since you've been gone we've been very busy. We set up a training camp of our own. The first group of graduates joined Donovan's men and the ones you sent. Now there are 300 men marching as official U.S. Army. A class of 100 volunteered recruits starts tomorrow. I've been helping when I can. For the most part I teach them archery and basic survival skills. Ammo is getting a little low around here – another thing that Connor will as Texas to help with. In the meantime, we've got to teach these guys to use what's available. _

_When it comes to battle, they'll just have to do things the same way we did back in Willoughby – kill a bad guy and take his gear. Those were the days, huh? Anyway, I'm only at the training camp two days a week. The rest of my time is pretty much split between the kids and getting more support for our side in town. _

_And, by the way… Donovan has outted all of us to the locals. A while back the Patriots razed Frankfort. He thought it'd work to our advantage to come forward while people were still pissed about the Frankfort Massacre (that's what the civies are calling it). Anyway, it went better than I expected. I still get an occasional dirty look, but for the most part everyone has been fairly accepting of us and of you. _

_They've gotten to know the man you are, not the man they heard you to be. Now that the secret's out, Avery makes sure to tell everyone that will listen that he knew it first. I think everyone in town has heard how you risked your life and freedom just to save his sweet little Sarah a million times by now. So see, there is so much to come back to. You have more friends than you realize. Please don't give up. I have faith in you – even if you don't._

_The kids miss you and ask for their Daddy all the time. Danny has caught up with his sister and is climbing all over everything. I caught him sitting on the back of the couch yesterday, laying on it like a cat. They both hit a growth spurt last month, so they had to have all new clothes made. _

_Also in the past month or so Angie's hair has finally started to come in thicker. You'll be happy to know that it's curling up like crazy now. It'll probably be as bad as yours. She talks about as much as you do too. There is no doubt when people look at her that she's your spawn. Danny on the other hand is still a tossup. _

_Katie Carter (Avery's middle daughter, remember?) did me a favor and has drawn a sketch of them for you that I'm enclosing. She's really good, don't you think? Oh, by the way she's made it her mission in life to get Connor to fall madly in love with her. It's been kind of fun watching this unfold. She's been chasing him around everywhere while he desperately tries to avoid her. She's a beautiful girl – smart too. I'm kind of rooting for her. She's been moping in her room for the past day since Connor left, or so Julie tells me. _

_The farm is going well. We took on six more hands a while ago and now Daniel has plans on taking in two more. The bunkhouse is full. More than likely we're going to have to expand soon. Grandpa has moved to Donovan's camp. He's been working with a group of soldiers to train them as medics in the field. Mom has been helping him with this. So at least if our boys get shot to hell someone will be able to take care of them. _

_Now for some sadder news. I don't want to worry you but Daniel has been slowing down a lot. He caught a bad cold last month and just hasn't gotten back to normal since. He's been working from the house more often at Grandpa's insistence, mostly just doing administrative stuff. I've been trying to help oversee everything else as much as I can, but we're going to have to hire someone until you get back. Daniel will be 78 next month, and he's just getting too old to run things hands on. And might I add that he's almost as bad of a patient as you are, although he's finally listening when we tell him to take it easy for once. Well, except for the whiskey. Grandpa tried to ban it but so far Daniel has managed to sneak it past us. _

_I can't wait until all of this is over. I feel so helpless, like I should be a part of the action instead of holding down the fort here; like somehow we could end it sooner if I could help more. I know that's ridiculous, but it's still there. Or maybe I'm just missing you too much and wish I could be there with you. _

_We all love you and want you home (even mom – but she'll never admit it… She hasn't had anyone to maim with biscuits in a while)._

_Your impatient and loving wife,_

_Charlie_

Monroe sat at the desk in his quarters, must finishing up Charlie's letter. He picked up the sketch and unfolded it. Staring back at him were Danny and Angie's smiling faces. The Carter girl really did have a talent. He chuckled to himself as his eyes started to tear up. He was still looking at the drawing a few minutes later when Jeremy entered the room. "Don't you knock?" Monroe asked, not bothering to look up.

"My house. I don't have to knock," he snapped. Their working relationship was not exactly an easy one. There was a lot of animosity on Jeremy's part and a lot of guilt on Monroe's, which in turn only served to piss Jeremy off all the more. He didn't want Monroe's remorse. Remorse meant he was obligated to forgive the man – something he still wasn't ready to do.

Even Jeremy cannot deny that the callousness that had been required of him as an officer in the Monroe Militia and the darkness of its former leader have led him to do some horrific things over the years – things that appalled him now (such as using his own men as bait for a sniper rifle just to run the rebels out of ammo). But he's moved on and changed, and through him what was left of the Republic after Monroe lost it all has changed. If it wasn't for the fact that the Patriots posed such a threat, he would never have even thought about turning everything over to Monroe.

His lie about having been sent by the President-General to keep order had left him between a rock and a hard place. Everything he'd done he'd done in Monroe's name, so the people no longer saw him as the power hungry lunatic they'd (accurately) thought him to be two years ago. He had no choice but to once again follow Monroe's orders. But now he'd do it on his own terms and had decided he didn't have to be nice while he did it.

Jeremy leaned against the doorframe. "So what are you staring at?" he asked casually. Since he'd entered the room, Monroe had yet to look at him.

He turned the sketch around for Jeremy to see. "My kids – Danny and Angie. They turned one in November. Charlie had the neighbor's daughter sketch them for me."

"Cute kids," Jeremy acknowledged. He still couldn't get over that Monroe had married Rachel Matheson's daughter. He'd met her once – she was indeed something, he'd give her that. But the relationship was still weird. He abruptly got down to business. "We've got 4,000 men ready to head out in addition to the 1,000 we've got stationed at various points between us and Kentucky. This leaves 2,000 to protect our borders."

Monroe thought about this as he carefully folded the letter and sketch, putting them securely in the drawer of his desk. He'd find a frame for the picture later. "Call the rest in and get them ready to deploy," he ordered.

Jeremy balked at the idea. "Need I remind you that we're risking Ontario's retaliation with so many men cutting through their southern territories? We're practically taking them right past the capital."

Monroe turned in his chair. "Yeah, about that…"

The Colonel did not like what Monroe's tone implied. "Bass, if you think you're going to pick a border war with Ontario now, you're crazier than ever –and an idiot."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, dickhead." He shook his head. "I wasn't planning on it. But we need to discuss the future of the so-called Northern Republic."

"Wait – what?" Jeremy started to raise his voice.

Monroe got up and went over to the bookshelf to pull out a stack of papers concealed in a large atlas. "Every day I'm here it's getting harder and harder to remind myself that I've gotta walk away. You were there. You witnessed firsthand what the Republic did to me – what the power did. And it'll do it again; it's already started. But this time, I've got too much at stake." He handed Jeremy the pages. "Tomorrow I'm heading out to London. The Prime Minister and I need to have a little chat. I've sent a courier to Montreal as well with a copy of this."

"For what?" Jeremy took a deep breath and tried to keep his temper.

"I'm the president, right? Time I did something presidential."

_March 12, 2030_

_Charlie,_

_Looks like the courier line we've set up is working. I got your letter just two weeks after you wrote it. You have no idea how good it was to hear from you. It couldn't have come at a better time. I'm sorry it's taken so long for my reply. I've had a busy week. I just returned from London, the new capital of Ontario. It was a risk (and I'm sure Donovan won't be overly happy with it) but I've secured a total of 5,000 more men for the cause. _

_I won't go into details here. You can read them in the treaty that I'm sending to you. I've enclosed three copies. I need you to do everything in your power to get Donovan to sign. It's official with or without it, but it will make my Canadian counterparts a lot more trusting if you can manage it. One copy is for Donovan to keep. The others need to be signed and sent back for Prime Minister Adams of Ontario and King Rousseau of Quebec. I'll have him sign my copy when I get down there. _

_This was more difficult to pull off – in fact it's probably the second most difficult thing I've ever had to do. Charlie, I've felt myself slipping for the past few weeks. I'd written the treaty a month ago, but I hadn't been able to force myself to approach the Provinces with it. Reading your words is what helped me get through it. Who knew that a letter and a simple sketch could have such an impact?_

_Jeremy will be heading down with 4,000 men in a few days. I will remain up here for another week or two to wait for the men from Canada and for the remaining 2,000 Militia that are being recalled from along the border. Things are finally getting started. I won't lie; I'm excited to finally get going. I feel like I've been sitting on my ass while Miles has all the fun down there._

_As far as your question goes, yes there has been something I've been keeping from you. Remember when we were on the road to Providence and I told you that saving you came at a cost? The Republic was that cost – and not just the chance to get it back. Those things got into my head pretty bad. They offered me everything back on a silver platter. They even offered me electricity to help make it happen. I could have had it all back and more or I could have you._

_I chose you, but for a second I didn't know what I'd pick. I wanted it so badly, and they made me want it even more. That's the reason I left on the day the twins were born. The fact that I'd even consider trading your life for the power wrecked me. I wanted to protect all three of you from me. It was the first time that I'd ever seen myself through everyone else's eyes and what I saw horrified me._

_I should have told you, but I didn't know how. Things were already tense enough and you had enough reasons to hate me. I didn't want to add to them because I almost made what would have been the greatest mistake I could have ever made. That choice was the hardest thing I've ever had to do in my entire sorry life, and I hope you can forgive me for almost fucking it up._

_This was the reason why the news about the Republic bothered Connor. He was probably afraid I'd do something stupid. The nano must have seen all of this coming because they sent me a very strong message the night I killed Truman. It was made very clear that if I went back on my end of the bargain that they'd go back on theirs. I know this all sounds crazy, but it's true. Talk to Priscilla and your mom. They've both seen what these things can do. _

_Thankfully the treaty is in place; it's over now. I'm finally free of it, and it feels so good – like the weight of the world has been lifted from my shoulders. You should be happy to know that Aaron is finally coming into his own. He read me the riot act when he first found out that I was assuming the role of President in more than just name. I think he'd been able to tell how much I was struggling and was convinced I was giving into temptation. _

_Two years ago, if I'd have so much as said "Boo" to him he'd probably have shit is pants, but he stormed in ready to knock some sense into me – literally. He threatened to kick the crap out of me until I saw reason; not that he could but the sentiment was sweet and all._

_I know you told me not to worry about Daniel but I am. I know he won't be around forever but I can't imagine returning home to find him gone. I don't think you realize how low I was when he took me in. If it wasn't for him, I don't know if I'd have been around long enough to get my memories back in the first place – even if I'd have gotten out of that mess in town without his help. Has he gotten any better?_

_At any rate, the courier is waiting for me to finish this so he can head out. By that I mean he's been pacing outside my quarters for the past ten minutes._

_Love you,_

_Bass_

_P.S. We've been married for over three months now. Don't you think it's about time you used my name?_

Charlie set the letter aside and unfolded one of the copies of the treaty. What she red left her floored. Determined, she got out of bed, wincing as the stitches in her side pulled. Getting dressed took some effort but she finally managed the task.

"What are you doing up?" Priscilla asked as she gingerly made her way through the kitchen.

"I've got to see Donovan. It's important." Without another word, Charlie imped her way to the encampment. As she passed the infirmary tent, she did her best to block out the sounds of human suffering coming from within.

_March 27, 2030_

_Hey Monroe,_

_Hopefully by now you're on your way. The messenger that brought your letter told us that Jeremy ran into a reprogramming center right next to the border and has taken it out. There were no survivors. The handlers refused to deactivate the recruits so they had to be taken out. Miles is running into the same problem in Missouri. They've taken out two small centers with no luck._

_St. Louis has been liberated along with the rest of the region. What's left of the war clans have been able to keep the Patriots out of Iowa and Kansas for the time being. Texas has worked out a deal with them in order to get help policing the plains. The state of things in Nebraska is an unknown._

_A few days ago Providence was attacked. The patriots didn't even try to take over. Their goal was to destroy everything. We intercepted them on the outskirts of the town proper and were able to hold them off long enough for Militia reinforcements to show up. Two hundred men from the nearest encampment came and at the end of the day nobody in khaki was breathing. Considering the fact we were slightly outnumbered even with the men you've sent down and the fact that they were better armed, we got lucky. _

_137 total casualties, 66 of which were KIA (47 of our own, 19 militia), 9 MIA and the rest wounded. There were only 11 civilian casualties, 2 of which were killed. One of them was a five year old boy. I saw the bastard shoot him down like he was nothing. They came hard and fast. If it wasn't for the fact that a Militia scout had seen them in time to send the reinforcements, we'd have lost the entire town. Johnathan Greene lost his farm. His wife was the other civilian death. He was in town with their son when the attack came. They burned everything he had to the ground and killed Molly on their way through. _

_In other news, Connor finally sent word. Texas is in. They're preparing to send 7,500 rangers. They'll work their way across to Louisiana and will start plowing the road. Once they clear New Orleans, we should have most of the Mississippi under our control. They'll take out what they can in Louisiana and Arkansas before working their way to the southern fallout zone. Nobody knows if there's access into Florida, but if there is they will work their way down._

_Carver wants to discuss the possibility of making it to Cuba. There's a chance that they have reinforcements down there still. If so, we need to cut them down at the source. It has to be where their original reprogramming center is located. _

_Also, Texas is sending 250 skilled laborers with the intent on getting the rail lines cleared. There are only a handful of working trains left but if we control all of them it will give us an edge. Texas has four now. They had two before all of this mess began and were able to confiscate two more in the plains. _

_All things considered, we're holding together fairly well. Daniel's health is holding up but Grandpa thinks he will never be quite the same. He offered to help Johnathan, but the man has refused all "charity" from his neighbors. We found a better solution and have hired him to help run things while you're gone. This works out well for everyone. Daniel will overpay him and we'll help him rebuild after the war is over. In return, Johnathan and his son, Brian will make sure this place keeps going so Daniel can basically retire._

_As I write this he's sitting on the couch with Danny and Angie reading them a story – Alice in Wonderland, I think. He said it belonged to his granddaughter (she must have left it here when she came for a visit). Danny and Angie have taken to calling him Grandpa Dan. It's adorable, especially since they can barely say it. Lately it seems they spend more time with him than they do with anyone else. He complains about them being underfoot all the time, but of course he loves every minute of it. _

_Oh, Donovan signed the treaty after the attack on town. I sent the copies for Adams and Rousseau up north as you asked. And, we'll talk about what happened with the nano when you get back. Until then, know that there is nothing to forgive other than the fact that you tried to leave. And that is something I forgave you for a long time ago. _

_I love you and I'll wait for your reply._

_Yours always,_

_Charlie_

_P.S. I'll use your name when you're home to hear me say it._

It was late when the dispatcher arrived with news from down south. Monroe crawled from his cot to accept the dispatches. Lighting a lantern he sat wearily at the crate that served as his desk and went through them. Jeremy's troops had split up into several different battalions and would be working towards clearing Michigan, Indiana and retake Chicago to clear the port at Lake Michigan.

Monroe's orders were to take out the reprogramming centers and any Patriots he could find in Ohio before slowly making his way towards DC. The thousand Militia troops that Monroe had sent down earlier had been ordered south to help clear Kentucky and Tennessee. 1,500 rangers were to join them in that effort.

He read Charlie's letter twice before setting it down. He was still exhausted but never the less he pulled out some paper and began to write.

_April 5, 2030_

_Charlotte,_

_Apparently at least one of those trains is up and running somewhere or I wouldn't have gotten your letter so quickly. We are in the process of ferrying the men from Canada across Lake Erie and into Ohio. We've been at it non-stop for two days already and should be done within two more. _

_Our scouts have found evidence of a large reprogramming center about a hundred miles west. That will be our first target. If what I've been told is accurate this camp can turn out several hundred new Patriots every month. It would be the largest we've seen yet. I'm making the decision to keep the men together until after we've taken out the camp. After that we'll split into four battalions to clear the state faster. _

_I've little else to report other than after we clear out Ohio, I've been ordered to start the long march towards DC. Depending on how things go, this may take us a bit close to the fallout zone, but we can't risk letting them hide there only to regroup later. And on that note, I'm starting to wonder if it's really as bad as everyone assumes. I get the concept of staying clear – without electricity there's no way to test the radiation – but I still wonder. _

_It's the middle of the night, so I'll keep this short. If things keep going this well, we may be done by summer. God I hope so. I'm glad you got John Greene to help out at home. He's a good man and I know he'll make an excellent overseer._

_What you told me about the attack only makes the battles ahead easier. Watching kids get killed in the crossfire is bad enough. To shoot a five year old is beyond my comprehension. I once did something horrible and shot a rebel and his family after a bombing in Philly. It will haunt me until the day I die, but even at my worst I could never have killed someone so young. You could not imagine what it would have done to me if you or the twins had been among the list of the dead. I'll try not to think about it, but the thought of them attacking again will keep me up at night for a while._

_Please be careful and keep them safe, _

_Love you,_

_Bass_

_P.S. If you insist on calling me Monroe, I'm going to insist on calling you Charlotte. You have been forewarned._

_April 13, 2030_

_Hey Dickhead,_

_So you finally decided to join the party? Just thought you should know that it's only taken two days for word of your sacking of that Ohio center to shake things up in Illinois a little. We finally got one of the handlers to talk turkey in a little camp outside of Springfield. The Patriots apparently have the ability to send news a lot faster than us. Well, they did until we stole their train. How silly of them to leave it for us in Springfield!_

_We only managed to deactivate 40 kids, but it's a start. The handler also told us that Davis is starting to get nervous and some of his orders are starting to sound irrational. The deactivated patriots will be sent to St. Louis to wait out the rest of the war. There are enough men there to hold them, not that they will be much of a problem. Their numbers have been tattooed over beyond recognition and we destroyed any hard copies of their rosters. There's no way to reactivate them now. _

_Apparently you hit the mother lode. That was the biggest center yet and it must have been a big deal because they'd managed to hide it, even from the other camps in the program. It definitely wasn't on the list we'd received from Donovan. The rangers that have been undercover all this time are meeting up with our troops. Expect a few to track you down._

_Now for the bad news. Jasper is gone – completely. There were no survivors. Davis intended to send the both of us a message. They slaughtered them in the middle of the night and burned them in their own homes. There is nothing left. There was one Ranger in the area but there was nothing he could do. He had to fight his way out as it was. The northern part of the state is clear. I'm supposed to be meeting up with Jeremy but I'm breaking orders. We're heading towards Jasper tomorrow. Don't worry; I'll get those bastards that did this. _

_Take care of yourself – stay sane, okay?_

_See you soon brother,_

_Miles_

Monroe crumpled the letter from Miles and threw it into the fire. Aaron watched the shadows from the flames on Monroe's harsh features. He hadn't seen the same look on the man's face in such a very long time. "We move out at first light. Spread the word," he said as he stalked off towards his tent. The tone sent a chill down Aaron's spine.

_April 20, 2030_

_Hi Charlie!_

_Just a quick note before I'm caught snitching. Monroe heard from Miles about Jasper. I thought you should know that he did not take the news well. I think maybe he kind of feels responsible for what happened there because of the way he tried to hold the town hostage when we were still fighting the Republic. Anyway, we hit another training camp yesterday. He didn't even give the handlers a chance to surrender. Granted they probably wouldn't have, but still. He ordered everyone within killed without exception. _

_He hasn't said a word since. He won't even let Brodie in his tent – which is weird since the dog hasn't hardly left his side since we left Kentucky._

_I'll do my best to pull him out of it, but no promises._

_Love, _

_Aaron._

_April 30, 2030_

_Jeremy,_

_It's sort of against plans, but how soon can you get to West Virginia? Scouts came back – Patriot stronghold outside of Charlottesville - 10,000 strong. Need reinforcements._

_Regards,_

_Monroe_

Charlie received letters from Aaron and Monroe at the same time. She'd gone on a raid just across the border. One of the Ranger scouts that had joined them had brought back a report about a munitions dump only a few days south of Providence. It turned out to be better than they'd hoped. They'd lost a dozen men and Connor had been wounded, but the payload had been huge.

The news she received from Aaron had her scared. After spending some time with the twins and Daniel, she left them all to Priscilla's care and went to reply.

_May 9, 2030_

_Monroe,_

_I am so sorry. I just got your letter and I just found out about Jasper as well. I know how you think. This wasn't your fault. It doesn't matter what you did or tried to do there before. What matters is what you're doing now. _

_Miles has sent word back to Donovan. The men that did it are gone; all of them. Please don't lose yourself now. We're so close to the end. Aaron is worried about you. Yes, he ratted you out. Don't be angry with him. And for God's sake, let the dog in. I'm sure he's heartbroken that you shut him out._

_I love you and I know you can get past this – for us. We've recovered some much needed ammo and weapons in Tennessee. That's where I was when your last letter arrived. I know, you wanted me to stay put but I needed to do something. I'll send what I can to you. _

_All my love,_

_Charlie_

_May 9, 2030_

_Sebastian,_

_Get your head out your ass!_

_Sincerely,_

_Daniel_

_P.S. The mare you were all gung-ho about breeding last summer has finally foaled. I'll give your ego a boost. You were right. He's a beauty – will bring a fortune if you can bear to part with him (which I doubt – you're a sucker for those horses, boy)._

_May 11, 2030_

_Hey Jerkface,_

_Got your request for aid. We had already pulled out of Chicago. Added 600 to our numbers from Militia holdouts there. We're about two weeks out. Miles is right behind us. This should put things on more even footing. _

_Regards,_

_Col. J. Baker_

_May 16, 2030_

_Col. Douchebag,_

_I'll await your arrival._

_Regards etc,_

_Gen. S. Monroe_

Monroe sifted through the stack of letters that had arrived earlier in the day. Donovan was not happy with the break in plans, but Monroe wasn't about to back down. It was too important. He may have been a shitty president, but before he went nuts he was still one hell of a general when he put his mind to it. Sometimes things just had to get done. As he picked up the letters from home, he pushed thoughts of the upcoming battle away.

He sat down to write home one last time. It was entirely possible that by the time his response was received that the battle would be over and he'd be on his way home.

_May 24, 2030_

_Charlotte, _

_We received the weapons on the supply train along with your letter. Yeah, I know I lost it for a while. Deep down I know it wasn't my fault. But a part of me also remembers that once I meant to do the same damn thing just to poke a stick at Miles. But I'm doing better now, I hope. Sometimes this is just the cost of war – it fucks us all up in one way or another. When this is over, I'm officially retired. If I never see another rifle or sword again, it'll be too soon. I'm getting too old for this shit (there, I said it. I'm old. Happy?)._

_Jeremy and Miles should be arriving any day now. One of the Ranger scouts sent word that they met up five days ago. This will bring our combined remaining forces to about 9,500. The Patriots are holing up the rest of their army in Charlottesville, WV. As far as we've been told the Rangers have pretty much mopped up the entire south. They are heading this way, but I don't know if they'll make it in time. We can't afford to hold off the attack much longer. _

_Without the Rangers we're about evenly matched, so it's all going to come down to who's got the best strategy. Either way, I'll be coming home soon – let's just hope it's not in a pine box. It's harder to take a city than it is to defend one, so we're at the disadvantage here. We're going to have to find a way to draw them out._

_This will be the last letter I'll be able to send for a while. Know that no matter what happens I will love you and Danny and Angie forever. You are all keeping me going. _

_All of me,_

_Bass _

_P.S. Quit calling me Monroe!_

_May 24, 2030_

_Daniel,_

_Duly noted; consider it removed._

_Regards,_

_Sebastian_

_P.S. Told you! On a serious note, I don't know what's going to happen in the next several days. If I don't make it, please take care of them for me. And thank you for everything you've ever done for me. It's meant more than I can ever say._

Reports were coming in that they'd won in Charlottesville. The Rangers had not made it north in time to join in the attack; reports had come in that more soldiers were on their way to back up the Patriots so they proceeded without further aid. With everything well under control, the Rangers instead continued on to Washington to mop up the remaining forces

Donovan reported that casualties were huge. Over half of the Canadians were lost and of the almost 8,000 Militia troops only 3,000 had survived. Both Miles and Jeremey reported in but no word had come yet from Monroe. Aaron had gotten separated from him but had found Miles the next day. They'd searched for the missing General among the injured and the dead, but so far they'd found nothing. He was listed as MIA, presumed dead.

The Texas Rangers under General Blanchard had taken Jack Davis and his remaining cabinet members captive and were holding them in seclusion in Washington. Donovan was packing up and would head east via train. The rest of the soldiers in Kentucky would follow soon after.

_June 15, 2030_

_Dear Mrs. Monroe,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. As you well know, we are awaiting the arrival of our new president in D.C. I am told that the train should arrive any day now. Miles and Mr. Pittman will be returning to you as soon as the train can be resupplied and loaded. We are working on recovering more working engines but in the meantime there are not enough to send them back to you sooner._

_I am writing to you in an official capacity as temporary commanding officer of the U.S. Army and as a would-be friend. We have found your husband. It was a stroke of luck, really. The last remaining troops were heading out from Charlottesville when one of them spotted his dog. One of the local girls was letting it out to take care of business._

_He was injured in battle and had been brought in by a civilian family that had volunteered to help search for survivors amongst the dead. I have been told that the dog never left his side and attracted the attention of his rescuers. I'm not sure how he got lost in the shuffle, but he'd apparently been unconscious for two full days. _

_He is expected to make a full recovery but is not yet able to travel. As soon as he is well enough he will be sent home for you to deal with. I see that he's still about as impossible a patient as ever. _

_Warmest Regards,_

_Col. Jeremy Baker_

Charlie received the letter just two days before Miles and Aaron got back. For the two weeks prior she'd been a nervous wreck. She'd refused to believe the reports and deep down knew he had to be alive. She couldn't cope with the alternative.

After giving his niece a hug in greeting, Miles handed her a letter. "A note from General Crabby," he said as he turned Rachel. Charlie pocketed it until she could read it in private. Charlie and Rachel led them inside so they could relax. The ride from the train station in Somerset had been exhausting after being on the go for months on end.

Connor was sitting on the couch with Katie Carter cooing and hovering over him. She'd made it a point to show up daily since he'd returned badly injured from the raid in Tennessee. Miles started to say something when Charlie stopped him. As much as the younger Monroe complained about her constant presence she had a feeling he was enjoying all the attention. The way he watched the young woman when she wasn't looking proved she'd finally succeeded in catching his eye.

Daniel sat back and listened to Miles and Connor as they discussed the state of things back east from the comfort of his favorite chair, all the while ignoring the annoyed glances he got from Gene every time he took a sip from the whiskey he'd refused to give up.

"Right before we left, Jeremy was promoted to General. There's a rumor going around that he might be in line for Secretary of Defense. Donovan was impressed with the way he turned what was left of the Republic around," Miles said.

Connor was still amazed with how everything went down. "So Dad really signed all of it away?"

Miles sat on the loveseat across from Connor and Charlie with his arm around Rachel, idling playing with a lock of her hair. "Yep. Quebec got everything we'd taken north of the border and Ontario got everything else, including what was left of Pennsylvania. The U.S. got the southern half of the Republic and all remaining Militia troops. Plus anyone living in the Northern Republic that wants to come home to the U.S. is being given a chance to do so. Most probably won't though. Adam's isn't so bad."

Charlie watched the domestic scene before her for a while. The only thing that was missing was Monroe. The thought of him reminded her of the letter in her pocket. She excused herself from the gathering. With the twins happily playing in the corner with more than enough adult supervision, Charlie went outside and sat down on the porch.

_June 7, 2030_

_Hey Charlie,_

_I'm sending this letter along with Miles and Aaron. They're supposed to be on their way to DC so they can debrief with Jeremy before heading home, but instead they're here pestering the shit out of me. At least I've forced a promise from them to head out tomorrow so I can recover in peace. _

_I'm sure you've heard by now that despite very heavy casualties, we've won. It's officially over. We took out the bulk of their army while Texas swept in and captured DC, taking the faux government under Jack Davis prisoner. From what I've been told there's enough physical evidence at the White House to prove that Davis and his cohorts in the DOD were behind the whole thing – the blackout, the epidemics, the reprogramming centers – everything. There's even proof that he ordered Randall Flynn to set off those bombs, so at least I'll finally be formally cleared of that accusation._

_Most of the ranking officers in the Patriot army didn't even know what they were fighting for. The same goes for all of the spies and civilians they'd recruited over the years. As word spreads, I don't think Donovan will have any problem with his claim to the presidency. _

_I took some bad hits once the fighting started. My horse got shot from under me pretty early on. Having a horse roll over you sucks, by the way. I broke my collarbone and had to go on foot one handed. In the process I managed to get stabbed and shot up pretty bad. At some point I got knocked out and don't remember anything else. I'm sorry it's taken so long to let you know that I'm okay. The sawbones around here won't clear me for travel for at least another week, possibly two. I promise I'll get home to you as soon as I can._

_I love you and I'll see you soon,_

_Bass_

She was in the dairy, tending to the latest batch of cheese when a messenger arrived. She recognized him as one of the local recruits. A few of them had been returning back to the training camp west of Providence. Donovan had very quickly decided that the army would serve in peace time as the federal authorities for the time being, so the camp would be expanded and would continue to train soldiers.

"Ma'am," he said as he handed her a folded piece of paper before immediately leaving her to her alone in the building.

Charlie turned the paper over in her hand. Her name was written clearly in Monroe's bold script. She held her breath as she broke the wax that sealed the letter, hoping that he was writing say he was on his way home. As she began to read the first thing she noticed was the date. It didn't make any sense. "Today's date?"

_June 23, 2030_

_Charlie,_

_Turn around._

_Love, _

_Bass_

Charlie stood up slowly and did as the letter commanded. He was leaning up against the wall, just next to the open door to the dairy. She hadn't even heard him come in. His left arm was in a sling and he held a cane in his free hand. But he was there and alive.

"Bass?" She asked, still not quite believing her eyes.

"Finally!" he said with a wry grin.

She wiped her eyes and closed the distance between them, throwing herself at him. "Ow," he grunted as he caught her with his good arm.

"Sorry. God I missed you," she said into the side of his neck.

He tightened his arm around her and pressed his lips to her temple. "It is so good to be home."

They stood there locked in their embrace for a while before she pulled back from him. "Well, let me take a look at you." Charlie gave him a once over. "You look like shit. And you're an asshole for not telling me you were already on your way back. You have no idea how worried I was when the first reports had you listed as MIA."

"Note to self, Charlie hates surprises," Monroe replied wryly as she continued to ramble on.

Charlie looked at the cane. "What's with this?" she asked, concerned.

"They couldn't get the bullet out of my leg," he explained.

She started to lead him out of the dairy towards the house. "We'll have Grandpa take a look. Maybe he can help."

When he didn't follow her she turned to look at him questioningly. "You're babbling, Charlie. Come here and kiss me already." He dropped the cane and pulled her to him before she had a chance to protest and brought his mouth down on hers for the first time in half a year.

**A/N: First of all, no this is not the final chapter. I've got an epilogue written and I'm trying to decide if I'm just going to use that or if they deserve one more chapter… As it sits, the epilogue is quite long… So it will be a few days before I can update again with either the last or second to last chapter. Also, I originally wrote this chapter to be nothing but letters back and forth, but I found there was more story that would work better in narrative format. I also intended all of the letters to be between Charlie and Monroe only, but I added a few here and there from some of the others. Obviously in the background there will have been messages between Rachel and Miles, Aaron and Priscilla and Donovan and all of our commanders that are not included in the story (as well as stuff between Miles, Jeremy and Monroe that would have been strategic that aren't included). It was hard enough to keep this under a billion words because I could have gone on and on with them forever.**


	17. It's Not Scratched, It's Got Character

**A/N: Sorry for the long delay in update. I have a few little incidental scenes leading up to the final chapter and I was having a problem figuring out a way to get them wrapped up together. I also feel that "oh and they all lived happily ever after" kind of endings just aren't meant for Revolution stories, especially when it comes to Charloe. For one, I don't think that Monroe's character can ever be "normal" he's too complicated and conflicted for that, and I think that I was dangerously headed that way, especially when it comes to the final chapter. This chapter kind of takes that away from him, but I don't think that after being involved in a war for months that he would ever be able to just come home and pick his life back up where he'd left it. WARNING! This chapter does allude to some pretty prickish behavior from our superhero, and also events happen which will show him that he can never truly "retire".**

"I'm fine," Monroe ground out. Charlie had been pestering him since he'd gotten back two days ago to let Gene take a look at him. Knowing it was the only way to get her to back off, he'd finally relented, and he had no problem telling Charlie's grandfather exactly that. "I'm only doing this so she'll leave me alone about it."

"We'll why don't you let me be the judge of who's fine and who isn't, unless of course you've somehow managed to obtain a medical degree while you were out killing the Patriots," Gene said calmly. He refused to let Monroe's grumpiness get under his skin.

Monroe gritted his teeth and submitted himself to the indignity of the examination. Gene began by removing the sling that kept his left arm immobile. "I need a better look, take off your shirt."

He complied, wincing as he moved his arm. Gene noticed the reaction, but didn't say anything. He prodded his fingers along the break. "Well it's not that bad, so at least I won't have to re-break it." Gene did little to hide his amusement at the grimace Monroe made when he'd mentioned the possibility. "How did you manage to walk away from a horse rolling over on you with only a broken clavicle?"

Monroe shrugged back into his shirt. "The ground was soup. It'd been raining for two weeks. The horse just kind of squished me into the mud – not fun, by the way."

"Regardless, until you can at least take your shirt off without pain, that sling stays on, got it?"

He let Gene put his arm back into it. "It's annoying."

"Too bad. Okay, drop them," he said.

Monroe considered telling him to go fuck himself, but figured in the end Gene would only rat him out and he'd end up being browbeaten into it anyway. Monroe stood up and undid his jeans awkwardly with one hand, letting them fall to the ground before sitting back down. The bullet had hit his right femur and the closest thing to a doctor in Charlottesville had been afraid to continue digging for it.

"Gene felt around his leg. "Did they even try to get the bullet out?"

"I was kind of unconscious at the time, so I don't really know. I was told it was too risky," Monroe snapped.

"Leaving the bullet in is risky too and in this case may very well turn out to have been a stupid decision." Gene found Monroe's attitude irksome, so he was snapping right back. "Walk – without the cane." With a sigh, Monroe kicked his pants off completely and walked across the room and back a few times. "That's enough. That bullet needs to come out."

Monroe shook his head. "No way. It's already healed. I'll get used to it."

The doctor crossed his arms over his chest, resolute. "And when you lose that leg because of it, I'm going to have to tell my granddaughter that it was because she married an idiot." He waited for that to sink in a second. "Look, you're walking has gotten a lot worse since you got back – and it's only been two days. You're also running a low grade fever. More than likely, it's infected."

"Fine, take it out then," he said, becoming even more agitated. "Get it over with."

Gene rolled his eyes. "I'm not just going to cut you open right now, dummy. I need to prepare. And I'm warning you right now, I'm knocking you out for this. Last thing I need is you bleeding out because you moved."

"No drugs," he said with a shake of his head. The last thing he wanted right now was to bring back old memories.

"Not an option. Don't make me get Charlie." He let that threat hang there.

Monroe narrowed his eyes at his wife's grandfather while he got dressed. "I hate you."

The next day Gene set up the kitchen as his operating room. Charlie had Aaron and Priscilla take Danny and Angie to Avery's for a few hours so they wouldn't be underfoot. Despite Gene's insistence that he operate, the surgery itself was a risk and they'd only be in the way if something went wrong.

Charlie kissed him lightly and sat down on the only remaining chair. Miles and Connor decided it would be best to cool their heels in the living room while Gene and Rachel worked. "All this fuss over a little lead," Monroe muttered as he laid back on the cot that Gene set up in the middle of the kitchen. He was stripped down to his boxers and already regretting the fact that he'd agreed to this.

Rachel placed a cloth over Monroe's face and slowly began to add the ether drop by drop. "God that stinks," he said from under the cloth, coughing as the fumes hit his airway. Charlie breathed a sigh of relief that he didn't panic when his face was covered. She'd been terrified they'd have to hold him down through that part.

"Ether stinks, but it's less dangerous than chloroform. Just breathe slowly," Rachel said quietly as she counted in her head. Monroe watched as Gene set out and checked everything he'd need. He'd set everything out to soak in alcohol overnight and had boiled everything he could when he arrived at dawn. Within ten minutes Monroe was completely out. Rachel kept the cloth in place for a while longer while Gene got started.

When Monroe woke up he was in his own bed. The aftereffects of the ether had left him feeling groggy and nauseous – and his leg hurt like hell. Charlie was using the rocking chair that she'd drug out of the twin's room once more. "Hey Bass. How you feeling?" She asked quietly when she looked up from her book to see him watching her, glassy eyed.

He blinked a few times while he waited for his mouth to catch up with his brain. The late afternoon sun was shining through the window and the room was uncomfortably hot, only adding to his nausea. "Kinda high," he slurred as a boyish and dopey grin formed on his face. "How long?"

Charlie got up, setting the book aside. She went to the dresser where a pitcher of water waited. "Half the day. Grandpa said you'd be a little out of it when you woke up." She poured some water into a cup. "Thirsty?"

She helped him drink a little and then went to get Gene. While she was gone, he slowly sank back into the fog that the ether still surrounded him in and daydreamed for a while.

_They pull apart after several minutes. He's reluctant to let her go but his leg is killing him and he wants to see Danny and Angie. He'd been lurking outside the dairy with the kid from the training camp for half an hour, waiting for the right moment. The only person he's seen other than Charlie is Miles, and that was just briefly – just long enough to shoo him away before the surprise was ruined._

_She helps him make his way slowly to the house. The twins are playing on the front porch under their older brother's supervision. As he climbs the stairs Connor rises in greeting. "Finally got sick of Charlottesville?" he says with a grin as he gives his father a hug._

_Before Monroe can respond, two squealing little whirlwinds rush towards him. "Daddy home!" Angie shouts. Her twin echoes her. They start to pull at him, begging to be picked up. With his bad leg and an arm in a sling, he's hindered. Charlie and Connor intervene and pick them up so Monroe can sit on the porch swing. Once he's settled they are released. Within seconds they've already scrambled to join him. _

_He releases the occasional grunt as a knee or elbow gets him where he's injured, but he doesn't complain. There is nowhere he'd rather be right now. Here are the reasons that he was fighting; the reasons why he was able to walk away from the fight before he lost himself again completely._

_Brodie trots up the stairs and barks excitedly. Charlie takes the time to kneel down and give him a quick rub down. "Good boy," she says. The dog flops over and exposes his belly for a scratch. He doesn't know why he's being praised, but he's more than happy for the attention. "You brought him home," she coos at him. She decides that tonight she won't even yell at him when he gets up on the furniture (after so many months away, she's sure that's the first thing he'll do when he gets inside)._

_That night supper is celebratory. Miles and Aaron set up makeshift tables outside so that everyone, including the farmhands can participate. The Carters join them, including Katie Carter who spends the evening fawning over Connor. He can tell just by looking at him that his eldest child doesn't seem to mind as much as he acts. Twice he catches Connor looking away from Katie right before he's caught watching her. _

_Daniel has to be brought out in the wheelchair that Gene had managed to find somewhere, but he's insistent that he will be there to welcome Monroe home. He spends most of his time in the chair now, Monroe is saddened to see – his body is finally giving out little by little. But he's here now and that's what matters. The old man rises out of the wheelchair with help from Priscilla (who's grown about as close to him as Monroe has over the past months), so that he can greet the returning warrior properly. "Welcome home boy," he says in a rare display of emotion. Daniels eyes mist up and he gives Monroe a paternal hug._

"_It's very good to see you," Monroe tells him as he pats him on the back. _

_They celebrate long into the night, enjoying the warm June breeze. Before long, Danny and Angie are put to bed. Daniel follow snot long after. His days of staying up and drinking with Monroe until the wee hours are long over (not that he hasn't gotten a hold of a few glasses this evening, much to Gene's disapproval). _

_Much later, Monroe and Charlie head to bed together. He's tired and more than a little drunk and very sore, so when Charlie joins him in bed he just wraps his good arm around her and holds on tight. Brodie is enjoying a place of honor at the foot of their bed, and all he can think of is how good it is to be home._

The effects of the drugs fully wore off right before Gene entered the room. He was finally able to hold a conversation without trouble focusing or slurring his words. "We've gotta stop meeting like this," he said to the doctor as he went about the ever irritating task of taking his vitals. He swore the man probably dreamed about blood pressure cuffs and thermometers.

"We will if you'd stop trying to get turned into Swiss cheese," he replied mildly. "I got the bullet out without too much difficulty. It should have come out right away. I was right about the infection; a piece of your pants was wrapped around the bullet. Causes one every time."

"Next time I take a bullet to the leg, I'll be sure to drop trow first." Charlie gave him a look from the doorway that suggested he be nice. "Thanks Gene," he added.

Gene packed up his bag and turned to leave them alone. "In bed until the stitches set, maybe two or three days. Oh, and you're housebound for two weeks. I swear if you go against this, I'll handcuff you to your bed, without the benefit of my granddaughter's company."

Monroe sat in the hayloft in the stable, hiding behind the bales of hay and straw. He was desperately trying to forget about the chore he should be doing right now. The bottle he'd smuggled out of the kitchen sat next to him, its wax seal still not yet broken. He'd been hiding for almost an hour in indecision.

Mucking out the stalls was not his favorite chore, but the stable was undisputedly his baby, just as the dairy had become Charlie's, so the task fell to him. And he'd always taken care of it without complaint, or at least he'd never complained when anyone could hear him. But now he just couldn't seem to get himself motivated to begin.

It has been nine months since he'd done it – first there had been his capture, torture and subsequent recover followed by the war. He'd just recovered from the surgery to remove the bullet from his leg. Today was, in fact the first day he'd been allowed to undertake a full day's work. _Isn't this what you wanted?_ He asked himself as he picked up the bottle once more and stared at it. And it was. All he'd hoped for all those months was to just survive the war long enough to get back to his life here and to his family. It's what had kept him going, but now when he was faced with finally getting back to a normal life, Monroe just couldn't find it within himself to accept it.

Seven weeks ago, he'd commanded a regiment of 7,000 men, and now here he was today, shoveling up horseshit. A mentality that had become second nature to him before the war now seemed so foreign that no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't seem to get it back. And what scared him the most was the fact that it wasn't just about his work here.

Monroe cracked the bottle finally and took a long pull from it. No, the work was just another piece of the jumbled pile of puzzle pieces that his life had collapsed into. More than once since he'd been home he'd found himself unreasonably angry or anxious while around his family.

_Monroe sits at the kitchen table, working on the farm's account ledgers. He's got several months of accounting to catch up on. Daniel's decline has prevented him from keeping them up. He's still healing from Gene's work on his leg, so he has little better to do._

_It's just him and Danny. Daniel is resting in his room; the others are in town. Angie is still down for her nap, but Danny has apparently decided that naps are not fun and won't go down. As Monroe works, his son is sitting on the floor under the table playing with some wooden blocks. _

_He's been playing by himself for a long time and is getting bored. Later it will dawn on Monroe that it was a miracle that his son managed to stay entertained as long as he had, but now he just wants to get this last inventory page done. The numbers just don't seem to want to come out right and Monroe is getting frustrated as it is._

_So when Danny climbs up on the table, Monroe is distracted and doesn't notice – not until the cup of coffee he'd long since abandoned goes spilling across the ledger. He jumps out of his chair. "Dammit, Danny!" he shouts as he picks up the book. He's angry enough to spank the child; the fact that the ledger is large enough to require two hands is what prevents this. The quickness of his movements and the sharpness and volume of his voice startle the toddler and he starts to topple backwards off the table. His daddy has never yelled at him before and he's scared. He starts to cry as he slips._

_Monroe drops the book and catches him before he can fall. The sound of Danny's wailing is like being doused in ice water – immediately the anger vanishes. He doesn't even notice the fact that the book is now soaking up the puddle of coffee that is now dripping off the edge of the table._

"_Shah. It's okay. I'm sorry, Danny." Monroe holds him tight and sways back and forth, doing his best to sooth him. Danny stops crying after a few minutes, his breath still hitching every so often. Monroe is appalled at his behavior. He asks himself over and over again: What the hell is the matter with me? Even in his darkest days in Philly the thought of yelling at or spanking a one year old would have been ridiculous to him. (Not that anyone would have trusted him within fifty feet of a small child at that time). _

_Once Danny is soothed and happy once more Monroe cleans up the mess and takes his son into the living room. He plays with him for a while, but the whole time he's wracked with guilt and self-loathing. He can't believe that he'd even thought about striking his son, and for the life of him he can't figure out where that instant rage had come from._

Monroe took another swig from the bottle. He knew he'd been an absolute dick since he'd been back. He'd found himself snapping at Charlie over practically nothing. Granted, she'd snapped right back and put him in his place each time, but still. He just didn't get it. This was his family – he'd spent months dreaming about being with them, but now that he'd gotten it he couldn't settle down and just be. He felt like a stranger in his own skin.

He kept drinking and berating himself all morning and well into the afternoon. When he finally moved to emerge from his hiding spot he realized he was well and truly plowed. "What the hell am I going to do?" he said aloud as he sat back down and put his head in his hands to wait out the spinning that was going on around him. Once it subsided a little he climbed down and headed towards the house.

Charlie was at the pump cleaning up from her daily chores in the dairy when he walked passed. "Hey you, how were the stables? Did you get them done?" Her question is innocent enough. She'd been secretly worried about him getting back to work. She'd noticed that he wasn't sleeping and barely eating as well, on top of the fact that he was grouchy as hell.

"I'll do it tomorrow," Monroe mumbled as he kept walking, head down.

Charlie abruptly stopped what she was doing. "Are you drunk?" she could hear it in his voice. She hurried to catch up with him.

"I'm just tired." He knew that he was busted, but he really didn't care one way or another.

"Bullshit!" She went to stand in front of him. "You're tanked, and you smell like you took a bath in the still."

Monroe grabbed her by her upper arms, and physically moved her out of his way. He didn't hurt her, but he wasn't exactly gentle either. "Back off, Charlie." He got moving again, leaving her to stare after him in confusion. He stormed into the house and went directly to their room, slamming the door behind him. Having spent the day drinking, his head was now pounding in his ears. He kicked his boots off so she wouldn't bitch at him later and flopped down on the bed. He stared at the ceiling and contemplated his stupidity until the alcohol did its job and he fell asleep.

His life took on the same pathetic pattern over the course of the summer. He'd gotten minimal work done. He just spent his days drinking and avoiding everyone. He only ate when his body forced him to and rarely slept at night. He only managed a few hours in the afternoons once the whiskey had kicked in.

Aaron took over most of the physical labor in the stables and one of the field hands took over the rest of Monroe's duties. Charlie did her best to work with the administrative side of things, like the paperwork, but she really didn't have the same knack for it that Monroe did.

"Get up," she practically snarled as she started shaking him. Charlie had decided that after two months, she'd had enough. It was time to find out what the fuck his problem was. The rude awakening snapped Monroe awake. Before he even knew what he was doing he reached under the pillow and pulled out a pistol, pointing it at her out of reflex.

Breathing heavily he kept the gun trained on the body before him until his eyes cleared and adjusted to the low light in the room. The look on Charlie's face made him feel sick – it was a mixture of revulsion, fear and hurt. He immediately uncocked the gun and lowered it, his heart still pounding in his chest. "Damn Charlie. Don't sneak up on me like that!"

Charlie responded by backing away from him slowly. "Since when do you sleep with a gun?"

Monroe looked at the weapon in his hand. _I don't_, he thought to himself. He didn't even remember putting it there. He shook his head, not able to accept his own actions. "Charlie, I –" he broke off and looked at it again. His hands were shaking. He popped out the clip and set it on the nightstand before removing the bullet form the chamber. Once it was empty, he tossed the gun to the floor. "Charlie, I'm so sorry," he croaked.

She just gaped at him. "You pointed a gun at me." She was still trying to wrap her head around it. "What were you going to do, Monroe? Shoot me?"

He flinched at the way she said his name. She was backed up against the door now, her hand on the knob as if she was ready to run at moment's notice. Even when she'd arrived in Philly and he'd ordered Strausser to put a gun to her head, he hadn't seen the fear that she betrayed when she looked at him now. "Please don't," he begged.

"What the hell is going on with you?" Charlie relaxed her grip on the doorknob just a little.

"Nothing is going on," he said but he was unable to continue looking her in the eyes. The fear was more than he could bear. Further angered by his continued denial, Charlie turned and started to leave. "Wait. I'm sorry. I don't know. I'm just…" He sighed heavily. "I just don't know."

Charlie opened the door and gestured for him to leave. "Well, until you figure it out, you need to sleep somewhere else. You know where to find me when you're ready to talk."

He slowly rose. "Don't do this," he said quietly. When he realized how resolved Charlie was he left the room, feeling completely dejected. Connor was still using the cot in the stable so he grabbed a bedroll form the storage area in the barn and headed out to the stillhouse. At least there was whiskey there.

Unfortunately for Monroe, while the stillhouse had booze, it also had Miles. "What are you doing here?" Miles looked like he was almost haunting the building. If he was in a better frame of mind, he'd have found it laughable.

"I drink in here where Rachel can't see me and in turn, she pretends that I'm not drinking. It's kind of our arrangement," Miles explained as he held the bottle up for Monroe to take, always happy to share. "I could ask the same about you."

Monroe accepted the whiskey and sat down next to his life-long friend. "Charlie kicked me out of the house."

"Bout time." Miles didn't fail to notice the way his response only seemed to wound Monroe more than he already was. "You've been an ass since the day after you got back. And if I didn't get it, I'd probably kick your ass for it."

Handing the bottle back, Monroe held his head in his hands. "I don't see how you can get it, when I even don't."

Miles looked at him like he was an idiot. "And I'm the one that barely graduated high school? Are you really that stupid, Bass? You just spent months back in action and _you_ can't adjust back. How many friends did we see that happen to when they got home after Iraq?"

What Miles was saying resonated with him, but he wasn't ready to face it yet. "You don't know what you're talking about," he said as he got up off the floor. He grabbed a bottle off the shelf and picked up his bedroll to find someplace else to sleep.

Monroe reined in his horse as he approached Providence's town proper. It was still fairly early, but the town was slowly coming to life. He tried to block out the last several hours of his life, but the images refused to leave him. He guided the animal to the one inn in town, ignoring the occasional greeting and subsequent looks of concern by his friends and neighbors. After getting his horse settled in the inn's stable, he headed inside and rented a room, refusing to make eye contact with the innkeeper as she looked at him questioningly.

He headed to his room without a word and closed the door behind him. All he needed was a few hours of sleep before gearing up and heading back out.

_He sits on the back porch, alone and gets started on the bottle. Miles knows better than to follow him. He's not in a listening mood. After over half a bottle of liquid courage and several hours to reflect on his life these past few months he gets up and makes his way to their bedroom. They have to work this out. He's not going to give her up without a fight._

_Of course she's still awake when he opens the door. She's been worrying and thinking all night. She's sitting up in the bed. "What are you doing?" she asks, weary and still upset. He goes to her side of the bed and stands over her, not sure of where to start. Annoyed, she lets loose at him. "You've been a jerk since you got back. You don't eat, you don't sleep, you snap at the least provocation. All you seem to get done every day is drink yourself stupid. If you're not ready to sit down and talk about it, then I don't want you around me or the kids."_

_In the drunken haze he's in, he realizes that they haven't had sex since he returned. He leans over to kiss her. If he can get her interested, maybe he can fix things without having to talk. She stands up and shoves him away. He sees red and tries again, more forcefully. He doesn't mean to, but he's drunk and unsteady on his feet and so when she pushes him the second time, they both topple backward onto the bed._

_Monroe loses it and a struggle ensues. "Get off of me! You're hurting me!" she yells as she fights him off. Miles comes crashing into the room and before he knows it, Monroe is flying. He hits the wall with a bang. Before he can move Miles' fist is connecting with his face. Both impacts sober him instantly. _

"_What have I done?" he says quietly to himself. He backs out of the room, disgusted with himself. He stumbles into the kitchen and finds the old coffee can where they keep a small amount of gold and diamonds for household purchases and takes just enough to get by. He pulls his sword belt out of the closet by the front door. He doesn't know how long he'll be gone, so he grabs his jacket as well. That way he won't have to buy one later. He walks back through the kitchen to the back door and heads to the stable. _

_His presence has woken up his son. Connor sees the panic in his eyes and the blood dripping from his nose. "What happened? What's going on?"_

_Monroe ignores him and finishes saddling his horse. He leaves without a word. He knows he's just done something unforgiveable and that he's become a danger to anyone around him. Until he gets his head on straight he needs to leave. _

He woke late the next afternoon. His head was pounding and his nose throbbed. He had a sneaking suspicion that Miles may have broken it. His stomach was burning with regret and too much booze on too little food for too long. He made a decision that whiskey was definitely not on his pre-traveling shopping list. Not bothering to clean himself up more than washing the dried blood off of his face, he headed down to the common room of the inn.

After picking at a plate of food, he left the inn and headed to the small general store in town to pick up a few supplies before retrieving his horse and heading out. He didn't get that far. As he passed the Sheriff's office his way was blocked by the crowd gathered there. Bob Beecher stood in front of the door to the office trying to calm them down. "I've already sent a message to Lexington to request aid. Until I get a response, my hands are tied. The new government has made it very clear that vigilantism will not be tolerated. I have to follow the law."

Curious, Monroe joined the crowd. "What's with the lynch mob?" he asked the man next to him.

"Bandits hit a farm outside of town – Clayton Armstrong's place. Got away with some cattle and roughed up his old lady a bit, if you know what I mean."

The man hadn't wanted to say it aloud but Monroe caught the drift. Mary Armstrong had been assaulted. She was pretty enough and was probably too tempting. The locals were not happy over Beecher's decision it seemed, and from the look on his face, Beecher wasn't even happy with it. Donovan had been adamant about restoring real order.

Even before Georgia and the Republic fell thieves, murderers and rapists were fair game if they were caught in the act. Neither republic had the resources to deal with every crime. With the new U.S. government however, the sheriff was expected to send for aid from the federal army for manhunts and all criminals were expected to be tried for their misdeeds.

Monroe backed away from the disturbance and went back to retrieve his horse, his errand forgotten. Without even thinking about what he was doing he mounted his horse and rode south out of town. Before he knew it he was approaching the Armstrong farm. As he dismounted, Clayton came out to greet him.

"Monroe? What do you want?" Clayton was not happy to see him. But that was to be expected. He was the original person to make an accusation about his identity the day he'd first come to the area. He'd been made a fool of when his accusation had fallen flat, only to be revealed as truth later. And to add insult to the injury, two of the men that had helped to apprehend Monroe in that bar – Avery Carter and John Greene had later befriended the man.

"I heard you had some trouble with bandits a few days ago. So do you want to catch the or not?" Monroe bit out. He wasn't here to make amends or friends or whatever. Hell, he didn't exactly know why he was here, but it didn't include politeness.

Clayton considered him. "What about Beecher?"

"I'll take the heat for it."

"Well okay then," he said as Monroe shook the hand he now offered.

They tracked the thieves for several days. The path the cattle had made following them extremely easy. Monroe and Clayton came upon their camp in the middle of the night. There were only five of them and from all indications they were poorly armed at that. More than likely they were just drifters and had been displaced during the war.

"Stay here," Monroe whispered harshly to Clayton from where they watched the thieves. He started to protest, but thought better of it. If Monroe was going to take the heat for this, he was happy to let him take the lead. The man had pretty much wiped out the Patriots after all. He was more than capable of handling a handful of cattle thieves.

Monroe decided to give them a fair chance. He walked into their camp boldly. "Well look at what we have here," he said as he approached. "I've been looking for you."

The thieves didn't look all that worried. "I'd leave if I were you," one of them said. "We don't like to kill, but we will if you get in our way."

Monroe laughed. "Yeah, good luck with that. I'm giving you about five seconds to surrender. Give back the cattle and turn yourselves in and we don't have to do this the hard way."

The bandits started to laugh now. "Are you stupid or just crazy," one of them asked in between bouts of laughter.

They hadn't noticed Monroe's hand inch towards where his swords hung. "That's usually debatable. Probably a little bit of the former and a whole lot of the latter."

The bandits rose one by one. "You're obviously bad at math, mister." The obvious ringleader said. "Five to one make the odds pretty shitty for you. Now we'll give _you_ five seconds to walk away before we tear you to pieces."

Monroe drew both of his swords. He saw the slightest flash of fear in their eyes when they saw how quickly he moved. "Have it your way," he said with a smirk right before he went on the offensive. His surveillance had shown that only one of them had an actual firearm so he was the one he took out first.

A shout came from his left. "You killed him!" Monroe didn't give the man in his blind spot a chance to attack. He backed up to put him in his line of sight and took him down with a single slash. Clayton watched from his vantage point as Monroe moved gracefully, dodging a punch while he lunged at another, catching him in the arm and forcing the knife out of his hand.

They backed away from Monroe now as if they realized that the five to one odds were never in their favor. "Who are you?" one of them stammered.

He poised to strike again. "I'm Sebastian Monroe." He lashed out once more, running the leader of the unfortunate band of miscreants through. He yanked the sword out of the man's chest before turning to the other two.

They thought better of continuing the fight. They had no chance against him and they knew it. They dropped their knives and knelt on the ground in surrender. Clayton came out of hiding and helped Monroe bind their hands.

Together they started the slow journey back to Providence with the cattle and their prisoners. "I've never seen a man move like that," Clayton commented as they made camp a few hours later. On the fourth day they arrived at Clayton's farm. They intended on stopping just long enough to drop off the cattle before leading the two remaining thieves to town. Beecher could deal with them from there.

Mary Armstrong met them at the gate, having seen the cattle and the riders from the distance. As she reached them, she stopped dead in her tracks and shrank back in fear. Monroe overheard her indicate that the younger of the two thieves had been her rapist.

Monroe saw red and felt the violence and rage consume him. "So it was you, huh?" he growled as he stalked over to the man. "You like to rape women?" He grabbed the man by his throat.

He shook his head in denial. "I didn't –"

"Don't lie to me," Monroe said. He cocked his head to one side while he watched the filth before him blubber and sob.

"I'm sorry," he whined right before Monroe's fist connected with his face. When the beating finally stopped the man was dead and his assailant was covered in red. Mary had gone inside as soon as she'd identified her attacker but Clayton had stood and watched Monroe beat his wife's rapist to death. He didn't know whether to be grateful or scared. In some ways, he was a little of both. He couldn't deny that Monroe had just done what he'd wanted to do himself. "Why did you do that?" he stammered as Monroe used his sleeve to wipe the blood spatters off of his forehead, succeeding in only smearing them more.

He grabbed the other thief from where he cowered, yanking him to his feet. "So you didn't have to," he said flatly. Together they brought in the one surviving thief and what was left of the other one. When Beecher saw them approach he didn't know what to think. The remaining criminal was locked up to await transport to Lexington to stand trial for cattle theft and accessory to rape and the body was disposed of.

The problem was what to do with Monroe. He was a friend and Beecher had a lot of respect for what he'd done to fight in the war with the Patriots. But on the other hand, he'd just beaten a subdued and bound man to death. Granted, that man had raped one of his neighbors and secretly Bob Beecher thought he deserved it, but technically it was still murder. Not knowing what else to do he locked Monroe up in the other cell in his office before sending word to the Forrester Farm.

The only consolation to his arrest was that at least there was a wall in between the two cells so he didn't have to look at the cow thief or be watched by him. Ignoring the cot in his cell, Monroe slid down against the wall. Spending the night there, he finally broke. He'd taken every ounce of self-loathing he had and had unleashed to on the man that had raped Mary Armstrong. It occurred to Monroe that the only difference between what the deceased scum's crime and his own was that Miles had stopped him before he'd succeeded. He did not move throughout the night. Sitting with his knees bent, his arms crossed over them and his face buried, he silently wept.


	18. Some Scratches Buff Out Easily

**A/N: Not much to say other than this chapter first contains a lot of angst, then a lot of smut and then some funny to lighten the story back up a bit from the last chapter. This was originally the second half of chapter 17, but it was too long and needed a bit of attention of its own. I'm not a songfic kind of girl (and will likely never write one) but the idea for their fight popped in my head when I was listening to the radio and Peace by O.A.R. (an awesome band and awesome song btw). So, I decided to include it in this story before concluding it. There is still at least the end chapter (maybe one more) after this… **

"Rise and shine," Beecher said as he approached Monroe's cell.

Monroe raised his head and looked at the sheriff warily. He'd fully intended on taking the heat for going after the cattle thieves but he hadn't considered the possibility that he'd actually be arrested for it. But, then again he hadn't considered much of anything other than punishing them for the attack on Mary Armstrong either. "So when does the train to Lexington leave?"

He sat down on the corner of his desk and looked at the man that helped save the country. "In about an hour, but you won't be on it."

"What!?" the man on the other side of the wall cried in outrage. "I watched him beat Tommy to death. Why do I have to go and he don't? I didn't kill no one."

"Shut up, asshole." Beecher snapped. "You could have gotten in and out of there with a few cows, but you sat there and watched while you're buddy assaulted their owner. And from what I hear, your pal was killed when he tried to attack the men trying to apprehend your little gang."

Beecher's response shocked Monroe. The man was usually on the up and up. "I don't understand," he said quietly.

Beecher motioned for him to go to the opposite side of the cell. "I got word early this morning that the Federal Army is unable to send assistance at this time and that I am to attempt to apprehend the suspects by any means necessary." He kept his voice low so that the other prisoner could not hear. "Clayton Armstrong has made his official statement, and in that he's sworn that you approached them without a weapon drawn and gave them an opportunity to turn themselves in. For all I know, that man could have died from injuries sustained while you were placing them under citizen's arrest."

Monroe reached a hand through the bars of his cell. Beecher accepted this and shook it. "Thank you."

Beecher nodded as he backed away. "Just try to keep out of trouble. And for God's sake, lay off the booze. You smell like a distillery."

He couldn't help but laugh. "So when am I getting out of here?"

"When your wife gets here to take your sorry ass home. I sent word to your family of your predicament last night."

Monroe sat down on the bunk in his cell. "What did you tell them?"

Beecher resumed his position on the corner of the desk. "That you'd been arrested for vigilantism. I'll leave it to you to explain the rest." Before he could say any more the door to the office opened. Charlie and Miles walked in to bring him home.

Charlie took in the sight of him as he slowly stood up in the cell. His knuckles were swollen, cut and bruised. He looked exhausted and spent – essentially he looked like he'd ridden to hell and back. They left Beecher's office without a word. His horse was already waiting next to the wagon, but Miles wasn't about to let him ride. He mounted it instead. Resigned, Monroe turned to climb into the wagon when a feminine voice stopped him. "Mr. Monroe!"

He turned to face Mary and Clayton Armstrong. Mary's face still bore the bruises form her attack. She waked forward and placed a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you," she said sincerely before she rejoined her husband. That man nodded out of respect before heading his wife into the sheriff's office to make her own official statement. Stunned, Monroe turned back and climbed wearily into the wagon where Charlie waited for him.

They were almost home when Charlie turned the wagon down the wrong road. Miles continued down the correct road alone. Still not trusting himself to speak, Monroe shot her a questioning look. "We've got things to work out and we need privacy to do it," she explained. They continued on for a few hours, heading east. It was well past noon when Charlie finally pulled the wagon to a stop in front of a small cabin. "Daniel told me about this place while you were still back east. He said his grandfather used it while he was a bootlegger during prohibition. I'd thought that once you got home we could get away for a few days, just like you said in your letter."

Monroe flinched when she'd mentioned the promise he'd made for them to get away as a family. He mentally added it to the list of things he'd fucked up since he'd come back. The cabin looked like it had been kept in decent repair at least. Charlie jumped down without another word and headed to the back of the wagon. Monroe had not noticed before but there were several crates of supplies in the back. He helped her unload and carry everything inside.

"Good, it's still halfway clean. I came out here one day and fixed it up a little." She took a look around before heading into the kitchen. "There's a pump around back. Go clean yourself up. I'll fix something to eat."

"Charlie, I'm- " he started, but she cut him off before he could finish.

"Just go. I'm not interested in anything you have to say while you're covered in blood and filth. We'll talk when later when you've got some food in you." Her voice was cold, firm. Before he could think of a single thing to say, she turned her back on him and started unloading the crate of food in the kitchen. Apparently she'd planned on staying for a few days.

He clenched his jaw before he said something stupid and went to comply. When he returned a simple meal was already laid out for them. Charlie watched him as they ate in silence. Well, she ate and he picked at his food, just has he had been for weeks on end. She knew he had to be starving. She just didn't get it. "When's the last time you ate a real meal?"

He shrugged. "Day or two, I guess." He couldn't bring himself to look at her. Charlie was already done and he'd not taken more than a few of bites. The longer he pushed the food around his plate in the pretense of eating it, the more she stared at him. Her message was received. She wasn't going to move from that spot or listen to a word he had to say until he'd finished. As badly as he'd fucked up, there she was still trying to take care of him. Feeling even guiltier than he already had, Monroe gave in and made an effort.

When he'd finished to her satisfaction he rose from the chair and started to clean up. "I'll get it," he murmured. She almost told him to leave it before she realized that he needed to move, do something. She nodded and went over to the other side of the cabin, which served as the living room. She sat down on the couch and waited for him to complete his task, knowing that he'd join her when he was done.

Her resentment was obvious when she spoke. "What happened to you? You came back a completely different person."

He sat down next to her, resting his elbows on his knees. "I don't know. I just can't seem to find my footing. It's like I had to resurrect the worst part of me to get the job done when we were fighting the Patriots and now I can't bury it again. I told you once before that part of me would always be there in the background."

Charlie suddenly felt so foolish. She should have seen it; should have known to watch for the signs. "Why didn't you talk to me?"

He sat back and rested his head on the back of the couch, turning it just enough to look at her. "Come on, Charlie. How could I explain it to you when I didn't understand what was going on myself? Everything just felt wrong. It wasn't until that last night when I – I fucked up that I realized where it was really coming from."

They locked eyes for the first time since she'd picked him up from town. She could read the pain behind his guarded expression. "Is that why you left?"

He blinked back the tears that filled his eyes. "I am so sorry. I never –" he choked back a sob before he could continue. "That wasn't what I meant to happen when I went in there. I don't know how it got to that point. When I realized what I almost did, yeah I left; to protect you and the kids from me."

"You promised me that you would never leave like you did before, not again." Her voice cracked.

Monroe pushed himself off the couch. He could take her anger and maybe even her hate, if it came to it. He couldn't handle her tears – not when he was the source of them. "I left, but I wasn't _leaving_. I just needed to get away long enough to get my head straight."

She still needed to think about that, so she changed the subject. "You wanna tell me how you landed in Beecher's jail?"

Monroe sighed. "Not particularly, but I will." He went on to tell her about the theft at Clayton's and what happened when they'd found them.

"So he arrested you for killing them?"

"Not that part." He sat back down on the couch and resumed his earlier position, arms resting on his knees, unable to look at her. "I beat a man to death yesterday, Charlie –with my bare hands." He looked down at his battered knuckles, flexing them.

Charlie's jaw dropped. "You… Why?"

"One of those douchebags attacked Mary Armstrong, roughed her up pretty good and…" He took a deep breath before continuing. "… did to her what I very well could have done to you. When she identified him, I just lost it. And since I can't physically kick my own ass, I kicked his instead." He could practically feel her tense up next to him on the couch. "Yeah, I'm that fucked up."

Silence fell between them as she thought about what he'd said. There were so many difference facets to his personality. There was the cold, calculating and manipulative General; the strong and yet still gentle and caring husband and father; the violent fighter that would survive at all costs; and then the self-deprecating loner, desperate for forgiveness yet always believing he was unworthy of it. On most days, he was a strange blend of all of these different parts, but today all she could see was the sorrow and regret. It reminded her of the Monroe that she'd met in the pool long ago and afterwards when she'd awoken from being drugged in that inn.

The difference between then and now was that she knew that it wasn't the act she'd once accused it of being. She knew him well enough to know that this was just how he was built. "You really are a mess, you know?" she finally said with a sigh as she reached out and touched his arm.

They talked a while longer, stopping when Charlie realized that he was dead on his feet. The only things they'd been able to resolve had so far been that he needed to do something about the drinking (she knew better than to expect him to give it up entirely – he'd been functioning alcoholic for most of his adult life right along with Miles) and he had to work on his temper.

The bedroom was really just a section of the cabin that had been sectioned off with canvas sheets to conceal the bed and offer a little privacy. She led him there now. It was getting dark and they were both exhausted. They lay side by side, close but not touching, staring at the rustic beams above them in the dying light. "Where do we go from here?" he asked after a while.

Charlie rolled over, propping herself up on one elbow to look at him. "Where do you want to go?"

He continued to stare at the ceiling while he worked up the courage to tell her. He knew he didn't deserve what he wanted. Charlie reached over and pressed her hand to his cheek, caressing his face gently. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the contact for a few moments. "I want things to be like they were before. I just don't know how to get it back. And I get it if you don't want that. I can't expect you to forgive me for the way I've been or for that night. Not when I can't even forgive myself."

In response, Charlie brushed her lips on his, ever so lightly. He froze. His every instinct was to grab her and go with it, but he wouldn't. He let her take complete control, something he'd never done before. She understood what he was doing – he was humbling himself before her. She urged his mouth open and swept her tongue inside. He kissed her back, but he let her lead him wherever she wanted it to go.

Charlie hadn't planned on anything more. They were both too tired and things were still not quite resolved between them, but she couldn't deny that she found the idea of being in complete control of him unbelievably alluring. And it had been a very, very long time since they'd been together.

Before she had a chance to talk herself out of it, she found the bottom of his shirt and yanked it upwards. Taking the hint, he pulled it over his head and tossed it aside. She kissed along his jawline and down his neck. Monroe wrapped his hands up in the thin sheet to keep them to himself. He wouldn't touch her without her asking him to do it first.

His breath hitched as she worked her way down to his chest and swept a tongue over his nipple. She'd never kissed him there before; had never even considered that a man would find it arousing. She flicked the other one lightly with her tongue before working her way down his abs. Her hand rested lightly over his groin and could feel him getting hard as she licked and kissed her way down towards the waistband of his jeans.

He watched her through hooded eyes as she undid the snap and slowly pulled the zipper down. He lifted his hips so she could yank his jeans down. His erection sprang forward in anticipation. The feel of her breath on the tip was torturous. She looked up at him as she pressed a light kiss on the head. He had to fight the urge to grab her head and guide her. Instead he clenched his fists in the sheet so hard that he felt one of the cuts on his knuckle split back open.

When she took him fully in her mouth he let out a loud moan. As she slowly worked her mouth up and down on him he brought his hips up to meet her. She stoked the shaft, gripping him just right as she swirled her tongue around the tip, sucking lightly. He began to pant with need. "Charlie," he groaned. She took the hint. If she didn't stop soon, he'd be done before she had a chance to get started herself.

She licked and stroked him a few more times before she slid her body up, lying on top of him. "Please touch me now," she whispered as she claimed his mouth.

He released the sheet that he was gripping like a lifeline, bringing a hand up to the nape of her neck. He tentatively massaged her there while they kissed, this time he asserted more control in the melding of their mouths. He slid his other hand up the back of her tank top. The light contact sent a pleasant shiver up her spine. With a flick of his fingers, he unhooked her bra and then removed both garments from her.

He flipped them both over and stretched out alongside her. He ran his hand up and down her side - down to her hip; barely touching her with is fingertips. The gentle contact sent her pulse racing. The circles he traced over her stomach started to make her whole body tingle. She began to pant and writhe under his hand. He eventually settled on her breast, and she cried out when he gently rolled one hardening nipple between his fingers.

Charlie's hands flew to her jeans. She began to unzip them impatiently when he nudged her hands out of his way and took over. He worked the zipper down as he took one rosy peak into his mouth, curling his tongue around it while she moaned. He pulled her jeans down enough to get his hand inside her cotton panties. When he ran his finger lightly over her entrance he was pleased to find her drenched. She kicked herself free of her pants and spread her legs for him. "Please she moaned as he slid his finger all the way inside before adding a second.

She rolled her hips as his fingers taunted her, enjoying the erotic rhythm he was creating. "I want to feel you," she said as she panted. He withdrew his fingers and pulled her panties off of her before rolling onto his back and lifting her over him. Charlie laid down on him as she straddled his hips and sank down on his hardness slowly, taking him fully inside her.

He cupped the back of her head and urged her face towards his and they laid there for several minutes, tongues moving tenderly as her sheath adjusted to his girth after so many months without having had him. When they finally moved it was slowly. Instead of desperate thrusts, they rocked together, their bodies remaining perfectly joined as if they were in a slow, erotic dance.

Desperate to be closer, he rolled them over. She lifted her thighs higher, gripping his sides with them so he could penetrate her deeper. He swirled his hips in slow circles, the friction and pressure driving her wild. Their bodies were drenched as they clung to each other. Monroe broke his mouth away from hers and began to kiss and lick at her throat. He could taste the salt on her skin as he slid his mouth down her throat and up the side of her neck. Her hand tangled in his hair as she arched her neck back to give him better access.

The feel of her wet folds gripping him after the stimulation from her tongue earlier was making it hard for him to hold back. It had been too long since they'd been together and all he wanted was to come inside her. As she got closer, Charlie began bucking her hips under him as her soft cries escaped her. This broke his tenuous grip on his control. Their rocking ceased as he pulled out and thrusted back inside her rapidly. Her thighs squeezed his sides tightly as the tension within her reached its breaking point. "That's my girl… come for me," he groaned into her ear right before she snapped.

Charlie screamed his name as wave after wave of ecstasy coursed through her. Monroe increased the pace of his thrusts for a few minutes longer before he shot himself deep within her, filling her with his seed as he came with a shout. In the aftermath he found her lips. Their tongues met as they held on to each other. They laid there unmoving as they slowly came back down from the high of their lovemaking.

Half an hour later and only barely hard enough to remain inside her, he went to withdraw. She let out a slight moan at the sensation of him siding within her and flexed herself around him without realizing it. He stiffened just a little, earning another light moan as she felt it. She laughed at the way his body had responded, which caused her to clench around him again. The feeling only aroused him further. "Really?" she asked, amused.

It was his turn to moan as he sank back in again as he got harder. "This is entirely your fault," he said as he captured her mouth again. He worked himself in and out of her slowly. Each time he glided back into her, he got harder until he was fully erect once more. The mixture of their combined fluids made her almost too wet, so he flipped her over, drawing her hips up and reentering her from behind. The new angle at which he penetrated her increased her need. His chest was pressing up against her back when he leaned forward to kiss the back of her neck.

He reached around her and found her breast, kneading it as he continued to thrust into her. Charlie surprised him as she reached under and began to stimulate her sensitive clit. "God that's hot," he panted.

She worked her hand faster. "More, harder!" she cried. He was only happy to comply. He increased his pace, slamming himself into her. The quickly worked their way up into a frenzy, hearts pounding and their breathing harsh. Suddenly, she bore down against him and exploded again. He rammed into her a few more times, his own orgasm taking him by surprise as he bottomed out against her cervix and poured into her once more. "Damn," he moaned.

The second round left him overly sensitive. He actually winced as he withdrew and collapsed sideways, groaning. Charlie flopped down on the bed, turning to look at him. "Problem?"

"I think you may have actually killed me," he said as he struggled to catch his breath.

She reached out to stroke his softening appendage, but he caught her hand before she could touch him. "Don't you dare. I don't want you anywhere near that right now. You broke it."

She laughed at him as she pulled her hand out of his, resting it instead on his thigh. "Enjoy yourself?"

He stared up, not looking at anything in particular while he waited for the blood to come back to his brain. He couldn't wipe the sated grin off of his face. "Best. Makeup. Sex. Ever." When she didn't say anything he suddenly became very unsure of himself. He lifted his head to look at her. "That was makeup sex, not breakup sex, right?"

Charlie crawled over to him. "Hey, look at me. That was not breakup sex. Makeup sex? Well that still depends on you."

Monroe lifted a hand and brushed her hair behind her ear – a simple, intimate gesture he'd done more times than he could count. "I wish I could go back and redo the past two months. For one, I'd have done this the second I got back."

Charlie rolled her eyes at that. "Yeah, cause you'd have been able to do all that with a broken collarbone and a bullet in your leg."

"I should have at least tried," he replied glumly. "Don't give up on me, Charlie. I know that I'm messed up right now, and I fucked up big time, but I want to go home and make things right. I told you earlier, I'll do whatever it takes – I'll quit drinking…" He caught the way disbelieving look she shot him when he said those words. "… okay, I'll drink a lot less then. I'll get back to work. I'll talk to you when I feel like I'm slipping."

Charlie crawled back over to her pillow and stretched out, holding her arms open in invitation. He followed and wrapped himself around her. "Okay then, best makeup sex ever," she said with a smile.

"Yeah it was, wasn't it?" He placed a light kiss on her shoulder and settled down to finally get real sleep.

The next morning he woke up a lot later than Charlie did. He found her sitting on the front porch steps, enjoying an unusually cool late August morning. He sat down, straddling her legs and wrapping his arms around her from behind. "Hey," he whispered into her ear.

Charlie leaned back into his embrace and rested her head against his chest. "Good morning. Sleep good?"

"Yeah, I did actually." He kissed her lightly on top of her head and closed his eyes. "I love you."

Charlie turned her head slightly and looked up at him. "Love you," she responded. "Hungry?"

He let out a little growl. "Maybe."

"I meant food, pervert."

With an exaggerated sigh he stood up and held out a hand to pull her to her feet. "Yes, I would love it if you'd feed me, woman. And if you've brought coffee I promise to clean my plate."

She led him to the kitchen in false indignation. "The things I do for you…"

"… are wonderfully naughty and I don't deserve them," he finished as he came up behind her and swatted her on the butt. He went out back to bring water from the pump for her to use, returning to see her pulling various things out of the cabinet. He attempted to help her, but she shooed him out of the way, claiming he was underfoot.

Charlie watched him drink his coffee happily while she cooked. He did look a bit better in the morning – happier and more at peace. She knew they had a long way to go, but it was at least a start. And he'd finally started smiling again, which for him was always a sign of progress.

They spent the next few days together at the cabin, just being together – a honeymoon of sorts. Charlie insisted they both needed the time to reset before going back to the everyday stress of parenting and trying to keep Daniel's farm running. The war had taken its toll on their farm right alongside their neighbors' farms. Daniel had donated crops that he would have normally sold to Donovan's army and to the training camp. This had left them low on funds, especially since they were paying fourteen field hands as well as feeding the ten that lived on the farm year round now. This would only add to the stress that Monroe knew he'd have to face.

Their return home was awkward for him. Only Miles knew everything that had happened the night he left, but Monroe couldn't help but to feel uncomfortable around the others. Even if they didn't know about the gun and his actions later that night, he'd still been a prick to anyone in his blast radius and had let his work suffer because of his actions.

In his absence, Connor had moved out of the bunkroom in the stable. He'd been afraid that it was because his son had thought he'd bailed again, but was at least relieved to find out that he'd only moved into the little cabin he and Charlie had shared at Avery's farm – presumably to be closer to Katie Carter.

As he got back to the life he'd dreamt of during the war, he still had problems. The restlessness and agitation were still there, but this time instead of embracing them, he made a more concentrated effort to diffuse them, with Charlie's help.

_Monroe comes in the back door right as Priscilla is cooking breakfast. He's found that it's easier to get himself moving if he starts his day in the quiet hours before dawn. He's still having a little trouble sleeping, and it's better than staring at the ceiling and waiting for the sun to rise at any rate. He'd awoken with a splitting headache which is slowly progressing as his morning continues – a consequence of the chronic lack of sleep and the drastic reduction in his whiskey intake._

_Aaron, Rachel and Miles sit at the table with their coffee (although he suspects Miles' cup contains straight whiskey) and the twins are in their highchairs. The kitchen is a lot less crowded since Gene moved into town and Connor moved to the cottage (with Katie, as it happens they are getting hitched). _

_Angie is whining loudly. Monroe sits down next to her, trying to distract her – the noises she is making are inhuman as far as he's concerned and they are making his headache worse. "What's going on with her?" he asks when she starts to bawl. He's getting very irritated, very quickly._

_Charlie sets a bowl of rolled oats in front of her and hands the spoon to him. "She wants her doll," she explains._

_Monroe gives Angie the spoon and does his best to supervise her use of it – a work in progress. But all she does is bang it on the table, still in the middle of her tantrum. "Oh for Christ's sake, just give her the damn doll!" he snaps as he pinches the bridge of his nose in pain and in frustration._

_Charlie is cutting up a peach for the twins while she helps Danny. "Do you want to be the one stuck washing oats out of it later? 'Cause I don't."_

"_Whatever," he growls under his breath. He turns back to Angie, who has started squishing her oats between her fingers. "Dammit!" he reaches for a rag to wipe her hands, but isn't fast enough and those sticky oat covered fingers are now in her hair. As he lets out a groan, he's hit in the back of the neck with a particularly mushy chunk of peach. More annoyed, he turns his head in the direction of the fruity missile. He narrows his eyes at Charlie, the only possible culprit. Everyone in the room tenses up, expecting him to explode. It's obvious that he's been working up to it since he sat down._

_As he opens his mouth to snap at her, Charlie rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out at him. The anger on his face morphs into one of confusion. 'Did she seriously just do that?' he thinks. Her actions are bordering on ridiculous, and he suddenly can't help himself – he starts to laugh. "Ow," he says as he rubs his temples. The laughing hurts (probably a lot less than yelling would have, however). _

_Still chuckling he shakes his head in disbelief. Priscilla sets a cup of coffee down in front of him before turning back to the stove to finish frying up the bacon for the adults' breakfast. Monroe shoots a pleading look at Aaron who covertly slips him his flask when Charlie isn't looking so he can spike his coffee – there are some things that he just can't live without now, spoiled as he is._

"_There's something wrong with all of you," he says as he looks around to see their amusement at his expense, but his anger has completely dissipated and he's calm now. Not to mention the caffeine and alcohol are doing wonders for his headache. He's given up on keeping Angie clean, so he watches her happily make her mess and finds the humor in it. Too bad working cameras are few and far between. He locks eyes with Charlie briefly, a smile spreading on his face as she winks at him._

It had been three weeks of slowly getting back to his life. Each day was filled with a constant flow of irritations and attempts on Monroe's part to keep his cool, and for the most part he'd been successful. The few times he'd lashed out he'd stopped himself from going off the deep end and slowly he found himself enjoying his life a little more. Under Priscilla and Charlie's watchful gazes he'd started eating again and he saved the drinking for his morning coffee and a few in the evening with Miles, Aaron and less frequently Daniel.

He still had the urge to hide away from it all, but he fought it with everything he had, and little by little his darker tendencies showed themselves less frequently. They were all just heading back out from lunch when a very happy and liberated goat went racing across the barnyard and into the fields. Under his breath, Monroe let out a long stream of expletives followed by "I swear to god, I'm going to kill that goat today."

Charlie gave Miles a meaningful look behind his back. Clearly she'd taken his threat against the animal seriously. His friend ran after him. "Tell you what, Bass. I'll catch the goat while you fix whatever fence he broke. It'll give you a chance to beat something with a hammer, and I could use the exercise."

Several hours later, Monroe returned from fixing several broken sections of the fence alongside the cornfields (Dickhead's favorite place to escape). He arrived to see Charlie, Rachel and several farmhands gathered by the dairy. Confused he went over to see what was going on. Miles was in a stalemate with Dickhead. He'd herded him back towards the dairy but that was all. The animal would neither go inside the building or in through the open gate to the pasture.

Miles was clearly not as amused as the others were, but he insisted that he'd get him. It was now a matter of pride. Monroe headed inside the house for a few minutes before returning. He had to admit it was nice to see someone else suffer from Dickhead's antics for once. Every time Miles got behind the goat it would make a beeline in another direction. Monroe climbed up and sat on the fence watching him for a while. He had to admit, it was pretty funny. "You've got to get behind him," he called from his vantage point.

"I know that, prick!" Miles snapped as the animal skittered around him and started heading towards the stables. A few minutes later, the goat was heading right back towards the dairy with a very irritated and now muddy Miles chasing after him.

Monroe cracked up. "If you'd stop rolling around in the mud, you'd have better luck!"

Miles growled at him. "It's not mud, it's manure, and I hate you!"

They watched in amusement as Miles stumbled forward. Dickhead took advantage of the situation and doubled back and rammed him right in the ass, sending him sprawling. Monroe winced on his behalf. "That looked like it hurt," he laughed. "Did you try roping him?"

Miles picked himself up off the ground. "Yes I tried roping him," he said in a childishly mocking voice. "He. Bit. Through. The. Rope."

Monroe looked at where Dickhead was picking at the grass in mock docility. Sure enough, there was an extremely short rope dangling from the animal's neck. "Get behind him really slowly," he suggested.

Miles took his suggestion, only to find that the goat was on to this and immediately started to dash off before he could grab the short rope. He charged after him once more. Monroe dug the apple he'd snagged from the kitchen when he'd gone in out of his shirt pocket and took a bite out of the sweet fruit. Watching Miles suffer was hungry work.

"I'm chasing the goat and you're having a snack? God, you're a dick!" Miles snapped as he passed him.

Monroe let out a shrill whistle before taking one last bite. The goat stopped in his tracks, cocking its head to consider him. As he chewed the bite of apple, he waved what was left in front of the goat, taunting it. Slowly Dickhead approached him, his eyes never leaving the treat. Monroe took one last bite and tossed the half-eaten fruit into the pasture. Dickhead trotted after it like he didn't have a care in the world.

Monroe jumped down off the fence and closed the gate before Dickhead had any more bright ideas. "You're an asshole," Miles ground out.

"Yep," he said with a smile as he headed back towards the house.

Miles really wanted to punch him. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

Monroe turned around and held his hands out as he continued to walk backwards. "To get another apple, stupid. I gave mine to the goat!" he said with a laugh before turning back around and going inside.


	19. Rebuild Level: Badass (or Dumbass?)

**A/N: Sorry again for the delay. This is the second to last chapter. Warning! There's a huge chunk of this that is silly and sappy. This is the second to last chapter. This one, along with the rest gets them through a huge portion of their post-war year as a kind of epilogue of sorts. There is stress, followed by way too much fluff (don't judge me!) and then followed by sads. Disclaimers/notes at the end.**

With John Greene having everything well in hand when it came to the harvest, Monroe could afford to divert most of his attention towards catching up on the book s and dealing with the livestock. In the past, Daniel had always made sure that no one in their community had starved during bad years; because of the war, this was shaping up to be one of those years.

He sat pouring over the ledgers with Charlie, trying to find a way to make ends meet. He felt lost without Daniel's help and input, but by the end of September, the old farmer's mind had slowly started a slow decline to catch up with his body. Gene had already warned them that he'd be lucky to even make it to winter, let alone through it. Monroe just couldn't bring himself to trouble Daniel further with the financial strain they found themselves dealing with.

Priscilla had taken over the majority of his care whereas everyone else living in their household pitched in where they could with the upkeep of the house to lessen her burden. Much to Monroe's dismay, this meant Rachel had once again taken over the cooking.

He drug a hand through his hair. It was getting very late and they'd been working on the books since the kids had gone down. Charlie could see the lines of worry etched into his face in the dim lamplight. "The only thing we can sell outright is the tobacco. Everything else is going to have to be divided up," he said wearily. As their one non-edible cash crop, the tobacco had not been great either. Daniel hadn't planted as much as normal and what had been planted did not reach its full potential.

"What about the taxes?" Charlie asked as she picked up the notice from Lexington. Of course Donovan had been sure to address the issue of taxes as soon as he'd gotten Congress up and running. A government couldn't run on nothing after all, and for that matter neither could an army.

Monroe hadn't even begun to factor them in. Donovan had decided to keep with the common practice of using gold and diamonds as currency for the time being, so the only thing they had going for them was that there was none of the inflation that came with issuing paper money. However, Donovan had declared that only 20% of taxes could be paid in goods, so they needed to come up with actual hard cash in the meantime. "Ugh! I don't know!" he felt the anger and frustration rise. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths in an attempt to push it away.

After a while longer, Charlie finally gave up. "I'm going to bed. Let's just work on it again in the morning, okay?"

Monroe yawned and stretched for a second. "I'm gonna keep at it just a bit longer. I'll be in shortly." Charlie kissed him briefly before retreating. Once she was gone he went back to the ledgers and the task of trying to make the numbers work, but the fact of the matter was no matter how many times he added two and two, he couldn't make them equal five.

When Rachel padded into the kitchen early the next morning to get started on the fieldhands' breakfast, he was still at the table – his arms crossed over the books before him, using them as a pillow. The oil lamp he'd been using had long since burned out. She shook him gently by the shoulder. "Bass… Bass!"

His head shot up and he looked around, disoriented. "Huh?"

She shook her head at him and chuckled as she filled the lamp again and prepared to relight it. "Get up and go to bed. You're in my way."

"What time is it?" he said with a yawn.

Rachel went to the stove and started filling the firebox with wood. "About an hour before dawn," she said as she worked.

He stood up with a groan. Instead of heading to bed he went out the back door to start his day. When he returned two hours later after feeding the animals he felt like a zombie. The world around him was fuzzy and he just couldn't get his brain working all the way. More than once Miles or Charlie had to wake him up as he dozed at the table over breakfast.

"Bass? Earth to Bass!" Miles said as he snapped a finger in front of his face. Monroe's eyes were open, but Miles was fairly sure he'd still been asleep.

He blinked a few times and tried to focus on the person speaking to him. "What?"

If their circumstances weren't so dire, it would have almost been funny. Miles was starting to worry that the added stress and sleepless nights would start to take a toll and send him back to where he was a month ago. "I asked if you'd come up with any ideas yet?"

Monroe took a drink of the coffee in front of him, praying that the caffeine would jolt him back more firmly into reality. All he could think was how much he'd miss it, but the price of coffee beans coming out of Mexico had recently tripled and it was questionable as to if they could spare the expense. He'd had a few ideas bouncing around his head as he'd gone out earlier. "Maybe. Taxes aren't due until April. If I can get this last round of yearlings trained and get the two we didn't sell last year saddle-broke maybe we can turn enough of a profit to get by." It had worked before the war, and that had been just the two he'd sold on the worst business trip ever.

He had six in total, including the two that were old enough to ride – seven if he counted the colt that would be weaned in a few weeks. He'd had his heart on keeping that one, but even if it was only halter-broke it might be worth more than any one of the others.

Miles was skeptical. "Who would you sell them to? Everyone's broke because of the war."

Monroe thought about this. The man did have a point. Their value wouldn't mean shit if no one could afford them. Despite his exhausted and addled state, he mulled this over and actually came up with what he thought might be a viable solution. "What about Texas? The Rangers always buy their horses young and train them themselves – and they've got the cash flow."

"Wait a minute. That'd be the post-blackout equivalent of selling an aircraft carrier to China," Miles countered.

Monroe shrugged. "Wasn't illegal before the blackout, now was it? Besides, if Donovan wants his damn taxes, the money has to come from somewhere. You'd think he'd give Daniel some kind of credit after supplying his men and the training center for all those months." He could not get over the fact that the man seemed to have forgotten everything they'd done to put him in power.

Rachel spoke up. "Why don't you just raise prices in the dairy and sell the corn for a bit more?" She was eager to find a solution that wouldn't put them back on Donovan's radar.

"Because that's not what Daniel would want, and it's still his farm," Monroe snapped. He hated the constant reminder that that responsibility was now his, especially when every decision he made reflected on the old man. Just because he was bedridden 90% of the time didn't mean that the farm didn't belong to him still.

He tried to calm himself before continuing. "Daniel always made sure to take care of his neighbors when shit hit the fan. If we raise prices, we're just going to end up gouging the entire community. Everyone's harvests were shit this year and they need the food. I won't do that to them, especially when it's going to make him look like an asshole." His voice lost a lot of the bite. He knew Rachel had a good point, but he couldn't bear to go against what Daniel would have done, even if it meant saving their own asses.

"Okay," Miles said. He shot Rachel a look to drop it. "I'll take the next train to Austin and see if I can get them interested. Miles had a bad feeling that selling to what was essentially a foreign nation was going to bite them in the ass later, but he left to catch the train in Lexington the next day all the same. While he was gone, Monroe worked with the horses each several times a day to get them ready to make the trip south. Aaron did his best to help as well, but it still meant that they worked from dawn till dusk without a break.

When Miles returned three weeks later he was not alone. Frank Blanchard and two Rangers accompanied him to look the horses over. Monroe met the newly re-commissioned General on the porch. "Hello Frank," he said.

"Monroe," his guest replied as they shook hands in greeting. "So, Matheson says you've got some prime horse flesh for us to consider."

Monroe was more than confused by the man's presence in Kentucky. "That's right, I do. But why the hell did you come all the way out here just for this?"

Blanchard took off his hat. "On the trip north, Miles may have mentioned that you folks make a bourbon that'll bring a tear to the eye and make a man feel like the blackout never happened. Why don't we have a belt or two before we get down to business?"

"Okay…" Monroe turned, wide eyed and bewildered. Feeling even more nervous, he opened the front door and gestured for the Texans to enter the house. His heart about stopped when he realized that one of the Rangers that had come was none other than Malcom Dove, the very same man that had arrested and held him in Willoughby. He shot Miles an irritated glare.

His friend only shrugged as he followed the Rangers into the house, leaving Monroe to stare after them. With a sigh, he went to follow them. "And here I thought life was getting boring," he muttered as he shut the door behind him.

Drinks in hand they settled down in the living room. "Now that's what I call a damn fine sippin' whiskey," Blanchard said as he swirled the amber liquid in his class.

"Yeah, now about why you're here," Monroe changed the subject back to the matter at hand, still not trusting his motivation.

Blanchard took another drink and then leaned forward on the loveseat. "Well for one, the Rangers are particular over where their animals come from. We don't buy shit without seeing the horses and their stables, and I sincerely doubt you'd spare the expense on sending them to us on a maybe."

"Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the interest, but why did Carver send you? Don't you think you're a little high ranking for this type of errand?"

Blanchard held his glass out greedily as Miles reached over to fill it. "Of course I am. Next year is an election year. Carver wanted to get rid of me for a while. He seems to think that I'm a threat to his career." He considered his former foe for a second. "But he'd have sent someone either way. We lost thousands of mounts between both fronts in the war. It'll take us years to replace them all. Carver is interested in working out some deals with a few stud farms. If what you're breeding here is as good as Miles said we might be able to work out a long term arrangement."

They talked for a while about the political climate in Texas. Blanchard explained that Carver had lost any ground he'd gained with Monroe's so-called execution when it because clear that he'd let the Patriots waltz on in and take over Willoughby. After coming out of retirement to fight the patriots, he'd received a lot of support to throw his hat back in the ring for the next election.

To complicate matters further, Donovan was trying to get Carver to work out a treaty between the fledgling new U.S. and Texas, but for reasons unknown the Texas President-General was balking at it. Blanchard had a feeling that this had something to do with Carver's desire to absorb a good chunk of the Plains Nation now that most of the warclans had been eradicated by the Patriots.

Donovan also had an interest in a part of the plains, especially since there'd been signs of unrest in Illinois and Michigan with rumors of potential problems in Indiana and Wisconsin as well. Monroe noted that the former states that Blanchard mentioned were also the ones that were hit the hardest by the Militia during his own reign over the Monroe Republic.

After the bottle they'd opened had finally run dry, Monroe took Blanchard out to see the horses in question. Both the General and Dove were happy with what they saw. After spending time negotiating prices, a deal was finally struck. Within a few days the Rangers had paid in full and left to catch a train back to Lexington to bring their new horses home.

The sale to Texas had lifted the weight of the world off of Monroe's shoulders. They had enough diamonds and gold to pay their taxes and last until the winter wheat and barley were harvested in June and then some. The fact that Texas had been willing to pay an annual retainer for the first crack at any worthy animals in the future gave him the opportunity to discuss the possibility of expanding the stables with Daniel. The old man's take on it was for Monroe to do whatever he'd thought best, but he'd insisted to his mentor that the farm was his, he was just working in his name and that he'd do nothing without his blessing.

Of all the different things they had their hands in on the farm, Monroe really did have a passion for the horses and had a way with them too. Daniel had mentioned more than once that he'd noticed it from the start. Monroe had been dying to expand on what had really started as a hobby. For one, a well bred horse brought in a lot of money, but more than anything Monroe simply enjoyed it. If they increased the size of the stables, he knew that within a few years he could really make something of it. With Daniel's blessing he began to work up plans for a new stable to be built during the slow winter months.

In the meantime, the last of the fall harvest was in and the crops had been stored, sold or donated as needed. The beginning of November had come with a nasty cold snap, but by the middle of the month and the twins' second birthday they had one or two unusually warm days. Monroe decided that after all of the hell he'd put everyone through and the stress they'd all had over their money woes that what everyone needed was a day off.

Since he'd just barely missed Danny and Angie's birthday because of his capture the previous year, he'd declared that everyone, including the Carters and the farmhands were going to have one hell of a party. Priscilla and Rachel got involved and had set up tables for a picnic in the main barnyard. To add to the occasion, Daniel was having a particularly good day as well.

"Priscilla, be a dear and send Aaron up to the attic for me," he'd asked as she pushed his wheelchair outside so he could enjoy the rare warm day. "There's a large trunk up there that I'd like him to bring down." Aaron had done as requested. Setting the trunk down on the porch, he opened it to reveal some old and worn baseball gear. "Back in the day we used to hold a picnic for the entire town every spring. This stuff belonged to my boys. We always kept extra stuff so the hands and neighbors could join in."

It wasn't even a question. With fourteen willing farmhands, Miles, Monroe, Aaron and Brian Greene they had eighteen people, seven gloves (almost enough), a bat and a ball. It was all they needed. As they started to set up, Miles headed back inside. "Hang on a second," he told them. He returned a few minutes later with a cloth bag. He tossed it to Monroe.

"What's this?" he asked as he caught the bag.

Miles just shrugged nonchalantly. "Something I came across in St. Louis when we went back on our way down south from Michigan. I was gonna give it to you on your birthday, but seeing as how you were being a giant fucktard, we didn't exactly throw you a party. After that, I just kinda forgot about it - until now."

Feeling a little guilty at the reminder of his backsliding and problems when he'd returned home, Monroe opened the bag, pulling out a faded hat. Charlie leaned in to see what he was holding. "What is it?" Her curiosity only increased when she saw the smile spread on his face. He turned it around so she could see the entwined letters on the front of the cap. "STL?"

"St. Louis Cardinals," he explained. "They were a baseball team. Growing up in Southern Indiana, you either followed the Cards, the Cubs or the Reds. The latter two were never even an option for anyone in the Monroe household."

Rachel scoffed from where she stood. "That's because you didn't know any better."

"Hey Rachel, What do ball-less bears and the World Series have in common?" he baited. Charlie looked at him like he'd gone crazy while her mother narrowed her eyes in annoyance at him. "No Cubs!" He had to dodge an apple that came flying at him for the remark.

Charlie still didn't get it. Miles tried his best to explain it to her. "The St. Louis Cardinals and the Chicago cubs were huge rivals. When your mom and Ben moved to Chicago, she became a diehard Cubs fan. Nobody knows why, they sucked. At least the Cardinals were good. They won the World Series in 2011. It was the last one before the power went out the next year."

Monroe came up behind Charlie sporting his new hat, backwards of course. Rachel rolled her eyes at him. He nuzzled her neck as he taunted the rest of her family. "Of course your uncle's taste was almost as bad – he always rooted for the Cincinnati Reds." He said with a laugh. "Seriously, thanks Miles."

Charlie looked up at him, smiling. In the world she grew up in hats were worn for protection from the sun. Baseball caps were rarely seen relics, but when they were worn, it was done so the bill shaded the face. "So, um… Why's it backwards?" she asked.

Rachel was only happy to explain. "Your husband is from Indiana which means he doesn't know how to wear a hat properly, because he's a fucking hick."

"The term is Hoosier - not hick, and I'm damn proud of it," he said as he gave Charlie a quick peck before joining a retreating Miles to start up the first pickup baseball game he'd played in almost twenty years.

Charlie watched as they played. Only a handful of them were any good. A few of the farmhands could at least catch the ball, and Miles seemed to be an adequate pitcher. She was surprised when Monroe hit the ball right over the fence into the pasture. "Show off!" Miles snapped. Monroe just laughed as he sent Brodie after it. Of course her husband and uncle had made sure to play on opposite teams and spent the majority of the time baiting one another.

Brodie may have found the ball a lot sooner than any of the men would have, but he was also reluctant to give it up. Mother and daughter watched as Monroe and the twins chased the dog to retrieve it. Danny and Angie were squealing with glee as their father pounced on the happy dog. Charlie locked eyes with him. He smiled at her brightly as he grabbed the dog's collar. "I've never seen him like this," Charlie commented.

He was now doubled over with laughter at the face that Miles had made when Monroe had tossed him the drool covered leather ball. She'd seen him happy before, but it always seemed to be accompanied by an underlying wistfulness that never seemed to leave him. Today, it was like there was nothing hiding behind it.

Rachel laughed at them both. Miles had just hit Monroe in the back of the head with his glove and now the two were wrestling and charging each other in the dried grass. "He was always like this before his family died. When I first met him, I was convinced that he didn't know how to be serious. He was always messing around, one stupid joke or prank after another." Rachel almost seemed like her mind was far away as she spoke of the past. "Miles was always the brooding, moody one and Bass was always the charming and happy-go-lucky one. He was a good man back then, always in a good mood."

She went on to describe how she'd met him when he'd been one of Ben's groomsmen on their wedding day. "The flower girl was my cousin's daughter. She was seven and decided that she had a crush on him. He must have been only a year or two older than you are now. He danced with that little flower girl half the night, even though I'm pretty sure it ruined his chances with my maid of honor later."

"So he was a slut back then too?" Charlie asked with a chuckle, well familiar with her husband's reputation.

Rachel shook her head as she started to set out a stack plates for lunch. "No, that came later. After his family died he started drinking heavier and chasing after anything with boobs and a pulse. Before then he'd loved women, don't get me wrong, but he wasn't what you'd call a womanizer. Not until he lost them. He was still a decent guy, but he wasn't the same. More sarcastic than funny, you know?" She started setting out the platters that Priscilla was handing her as she continued. "God, I remember picking him up from the airport when he came home to bury them – all jetlagged and looking like he was ready to shatter into pieces." She wiped a stray tear that fell as she remembered.

She caught the bewildered look on Charlie's face. "We were really good friends back then. You know, Bass and I have tried very hard to put the past aside for your and Miles' sakes. I don't think I can ever forgive him from Danny, even though I think I already have for the rest – but, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't glad to get this piece of himself back, even if it's only for a few minutes here and there."

Charlie watched in silence for a while longer as they played. When Connor arrived with is bride to be, he replaced Aaron in the game. Her former teacher and friend came up to stand next to her while he watched them continue playing (thankfully) without him. "You okay, Charlie?"

"I just can't get over how happy he is, how different," she said. "Seeing this, it's like I know everything will be okay now."

After lunch, Priscilla brought out the cake she'd made for the twins, which was later followed by the entire group giving them their undivided attention as they played with the handmade toys they were given, including a pair of rocking horses that one of the farmhands had helped Monroe build for them.

Later that night when they got into bed, Charlie curled up next to him. "Good day today?"

He kissed the top of her head. "Yeah, a very good day." He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this okay with the world.

"Guess what?" She waited until she knew she had his attention. "It's only going to get better."

"Oh? How so?" He raised a brow at her.

Charlie leaned over and whispered something in his ear. Monroe abruptly sat up. "Really?" Charlie nodded in response, the smile on her face matching his own. He settled back down on the bed facing her and rested a hand on her belly. "When?"

"End of May, maybe." She offered her mouth to him. His tongue swept lightly over her lips, parting them for him. He went slowly, as if he was afraid she'd break. He slowly explored her body like it was the first time, noticing the subtle differences as his hands skimmed over her – the new fullness in her breasts, the slight rounding of her abdomen. "How did I miss it?"

Charlie arched her back as he nuzzled the valley between her breasts. "For someone that can sense a scout in the woods ten minutes before he finds you, you are remarkably unobservant," she rasped as she let out a surprised moan when he pulled a nipple into his mouth through the thin fabric of her nightgown. She was unprepared for the intensity of the stimulation coming from his attention to her newly sensitive breasts; not used to how the changes in her body would affect their lovemaking.

Raising her nightgown above her waist, Monroe splayed his hands on her belly, placing a tender kiss between them. "God you're beautiful," he whispered with a groan as he slid back up to capture her mouth. He unexpectedly found her new condition arousing. Their tongues still dueling, he slowly slid her panties off and touched her center. The sensation almost made her jump off the bed.

He kicked himself free of his sweatpants and settled between her legs, entering her slowly. Afraid to hurt her, he kept the pace gentle and slow. He'd barely even begun when she was bucking under him, bracing herself for an overwhelming orgasm that seemed to overtake her unexpectedly.

Her satisfaction gave him the green light to seek his own. Charlie urged Monroe on. "You won't hurt me," she said as she bit his earlobe before dragging her mouth to his neck, scraping the sensitive skin with his teeth. He increased his pace, carefully bracing himself on his elbows. As he came closer, Charlie felt herself build back up again, but he stiffened and climaxed before she could get there. Sensing her renewed frustration, he slid his hand down between them and stroked her where they were joined until she burst again.

He rolled off of her, panting and hot. Charlie stared at the ceiling dazed. "That was… wow," she breathed.

"Yeah," he said. He rolled onto his side so he could watch her. She was still panting and flushed; he'd never seen her look so perfect: her hair was tousled, eyes half closed and skin glowing. "Another baby…" He trailed off, still awed by the news. This time, he would be there for all of it.

"Told you today was only going to get better."

Monroe stood with Charlie by his side, one hand clasping hers. He held Angie on his other side; Charlie held Danny on hers. Angie was starting to get heavy, but she refused to let anyone else hold her. Miles reached over from where he stood next to Charlie and took Danny from her. Priscilla stood next to Monroe, with Aaron's arm around her as she dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief.

_Monroe sits with Daniel in his room during lunch. He's made it a habit in the weeks following the twins' birthday. That day was the last time Daniel had been out of this room. Monroe has to help him on occasion. Daniel's hands are no longer coordinated enough to handle the task all the time. He knows that it's demoralizing to the old man. He'd had to deal with it for those first few days after being rescued from Truman's summer camp of horrors, so he knows._

_Daniel has been talking about some exploits from his younger years. Suddenly he stops midsentence. He closes his eyes and slumps forward. Monroe tries to rouse him but he does not get a response. He tilts Daniel's head back. He's still breathing, but it is shallow. He races to the kitchen to get help. Gene is staying in town now, so even pushing a horse to its limit, it will be four or five hours before the doctor arrives. In the meantime, Rachel tries to help, but it's obvious to everyone that it will do little good. This day has been coming. _

Half the town was gathered with them. One by one, their neighbors began to recount stories of Daniel and the good he'd done for the community over the years. Daniel was not a religious man, so there is no formal service; just those that loved and respected talking and remembering. Angie tightened her arms around her father's neck.

Before long, it became Monroe's turn to speak. He'd known it was expected of him and in some ways he'd been dreading it. "I, um." When he started to falter, Charlie gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "When I first came here it wasn't to the warmest of welcomes – not that I could blame anyone for that. And what was funny was I had no memories of the things I'd done to earn it. I knew about them, but they were just stories to me. I wandered from place to place for a while before I got to Providence and everywhere I went, my past almost got me killed more times than I could count.

But Daniel – he took me in; gave me a second chance when nobody else would, even though he knew he was putting himself at risk. He became my friend and mentor and asked for nothing in return other than I work hard and keep my head out of my ass – and not kill his stupid goat." Despite the sadness that permeated the cemetery, a few chuckles erupted.

"And after I got my memories back, he made me accept it when I couldn't bear to. He took my family in when we had no other place to go. He never judged me, even though I deserved it. He treated me like I was one of his own and reminded me of who I used to be before the world fell apart. He trusted me, even though he had no reason to. He made me want to be worthy of that trust, even though I wasn't.

And when the Patriots came and all I wanted to do was stay out of it, he made me face my demons and reminded me that I had people and things in my life worth fighting for. And I'm stronger because of it." Monroe started to choke up. "And I will miss him." Connor put a hand on his shoulder from where he stood behind his father.

_Charlie enters the room quietly. Her husband has been sitting in the chair for hours, unmoving. She squeezes his shoulder gently. "Hey Bass. Come to bed. Priscilla will keep an eye on him for a while."_

_Monroe reaches up and covers her hand with his own. He is exhausted but isn't ready to leave yet. "Okay. Can you just give me a few minutes?"_

_Charlie hesitates but eventually she leaves the room, closing the door quietly behind her. The lamp is burning low, in need of oil. He makes a mental note to fill it for Priscilla before he goes to bed. After a little while longer, he reaches out and holds Daniel's hand. "Daniel? I don't know if you can hear me," he begins softly. "But I – I just wanted to tell you that you've meant so much to me these past two years. _

_Monroe doesn't even try to fight it. He cries like a boy that is losing his father – because in this moment, that's how he feels. "You were there for me when no one else wanted to be and…" He tries to find the words. "And I am so very grateful for that. I uh… I love you, old man." He may be imagining things, but he's almost positive he feels the slightest pressure from the leathery fingers in his hand, as if Daniel has heard and is responding. Priscilla enters the room just a few moments later. He rises form the chair so she can take his place. _

_Priscilla is the only other person in their household that knows how acutely he is hurting right now, as she's become very close Daniel in the past several months. Before she sits down, she gives Monroe a hug. Although they'd never been close friends, they are now brother and sister in their grief._

_A few hours later Daniel is gone. Priscilla knocks on their door ever so lightly. She opens it, but does not enter. The soft light from the lamp she carries illuminates her form the hallway. The expression on her face tells him what he needs to know. Daniel has gone. He nods in understanding and Priscilla closes the door. He waits until her footsteps retreat before he lets the grief wash over him. Charlie holds on to him as he loses control._

There were too many people that attended Daniel's funeral to have a formal repast. Instead, tables were set up in the center of town. Most of the attending families brought some type of dish so that there would be plenty for all. By the time that they headed home, it was late. Danny and Angie had fallen asleep soon after the wagon started moving.

After putting them down, everyone retreated to their own rooms. Monroe sat on the couch alone with a bottle and a glass. Charlie knew better than to protest. At least he wasn't hiding away like he'd done before. She would give him this one night to make a mess of himself. For the past two days both she and Miles had kept a wary eye on him.

Miles was not entirely sure that he'd make it through this in one piece. He'd seen events like these break Monroe more than once. As he sat on the couch, he loosened the tie around his neck. He'd already ditched the jacket from his borrowed suit. He poured a drink (he'd decided that since he was using a glass instead of just downing the bottle it meant that he wasn't backsliding – like somehow this would make a difference).

Brodie was lying by his feet, keeping a careful watch over his master. Monroe wasn't even halfway through his first glass when he heard the sound of little feet padding down the hallway. Angie peeked around the corner. Seeing her father she ran over to him and climbed onto the couch.

He set the glass down and let her settle herself in her lap. "And why are you up, little princess?" he said as he kissed the top of her curly head.

"Daddy sad," she said as she looked up at him. She jutted a finger at his wet eyes, almost succeeding in poking him in one.

He held her tight as she squirmed in his lap. "Yeah, Daddy's sad, Angie."

With the simple logic that only a two year old could have, she leaned forward and gave him a resounding kiss on the cheek. "All better," she said with a smile as she buried her face in his chest and snuggled close.

The innocence of her small gift made him chuckle. "Thank you," he said to her as he realized that it somehow really had made him feel better. A while later, Charlie woke to find that he'd still not come to bed. She quietly went to find him, knowing that he'd probably passed out or gone into hiding. Instead she found him stretched out on the couch with their daughter, fast asleep. The bottle still sat on the coffee table, having barely been touched. His half full glass was an indication that he was sober.

Charlie went and grabbed an extra blanket. Creeping back to the living room, she covered them up. _Yeah, let's not leave this down where the kids can get it,_ she thought as she picked up the bottle and glass. After disposing of them in the kitchen she went back to bed knowing that Monroe was in very capable little hands.

**More A/N: So when I was looking at the geography for a story a while back I found that there really is a Jasper, IN. It's about 3 hours away from St. Louis and Cincinnati respectively. I wanted to do the baseball scene because it's a completely mundane picnic pastime (it was either that or washers – does anyone outside of Missouri play that?), and I wanted to show that even with everything that our characters had been through that every now and then they were capable of doing things that normal people do – and hey, baseball predated electricity, so there's no reason to think that it would disappear completely (and I know people with gloves and balls that are well over twenty years old, so the stuff doesn't exactly go bad).**

**Because I'm a dork and do a bit more research than necessary for a simple fanfic, I looked up Jasper IN to find out what teams are blacked out there. A customer at my work grew up in Southern Indiana and is a huge Cards fan and has told me before that they have a decent following there, so being from St. Louis (Represent!) I decided that Monroe need to be a cards fan (because, hello they rock!). Anyway, apologies to any Cubs or Reds fans out there. (And that world series joke can be heard in any bar in The Lou in the first few weeks of any season and then doubly when we make the playoffs – albeit it is a lot less politically correct when told here, I toned it down a bit. SORRY!) **

**And in fact, sorry for this whole chapter really because I know that most of it is just pure feel-good fluffy camp. I hope Daniel's death didn't piss anyone off. His character was fun to write, but I figure that it wasn't much of a shocker because he was very old, and I wanted to show the changes in Monroe from losing his family before vs. losing someone close now.**


	20. Final Product Differs From Image On Box

**A/N: Here is the conclusion to this story. Yes, it is extremely long, and yes the bulk of it has a lot of angst, but I promised an eventual happy ending, and I followed through, so as you read, bear with it. This isn't a traditional epilogue, as much as it finishes off the first year after the patriots have ended, with it all wrapped up prettily (I hope) at the end. More notes at end.**

Charlie stepped out of the carpenter's shop well pleased with herself. The new furniture was coming along quite nicely and the cost would be lower than he'd initially told her. They still had three months to go, but it would take time to get everything done. At first Monroe had balked at the idea of changing Daniel's room so soon, but the fact was their family was getting bigger and they needed the space. They'd already decided that for the time being the twins would share Daniel's old room because it was bigger.

She joined Monroe by the wagon. He was leaning up against it, chatting idly with a few people from town when a familiar voice drew their attention to the sidewalk. "How you doing, Bass?" They both turned and looked at it source.

Monroe cocked an eyebrow at the man that stood there. "Well if it isn't General Baker. What are you doing this far west, Jeremy?" His old friend's presence in town made him a little uneasy. They'd parted on much better terms when he'd come home, but there was something in Jeremy's eyes that he didn't quite trust.

"Official business, as it happens," was Jeremy's reply. There were several men in U.S. uniforms behind him.

"What's going on, Jeremy?" Charlie asked, her heart was beginning to race. She sensed Monroe's unease which only increased her own.

The soldiers' presence in town was starting to draw attention and a crowd was gathering around them. "You armed, Bass?"

Monroe shook his head in disbelief. He shouldn't have been surprised. "You're seriously going to do this?" He reached in the back waistband of his jeans and pulled out the handgun he carried to town for protection on the road. He handed it over.

"I don't have a choice. Orders were to do it in public and by the book. He wanted everyone to know it was official," the general said evenly.

Charlie stepped in between them. Her protruding belly gave Jeremy just a little pause. "What are you doing? If it wasn't for Bass, Donovan would still be hiding from the Patriots instead of leading the country."

Monroe reached out and grabbed her upper arms gently. "Charlie, stop." She slowly turned and looked at him. "I'll go with you willingly," he said with a nod to the soldiers.

"You're just going to let them arrest you?" She felt herself getting hysterical. She whipped back around to face the general. "What are the charges, Jeremy?"

He gestured for her to move. "Step away, ma'am." His voice was now formal, as if she wasn't married to the man that had helped Miles pick him up off the ground and nurse him back to health after he'd been beaten half to death in the months after the blackout. "Sebastian Monroe, you are under arrest for treason against the United States. You have the right to remain silent. Any testimony or statements you give may be used against you in open court. You have the right to representation. If you do not have counsel, it may be provided to you. Do you understand your rights?"

Monroe nodded. "I understand," he said quietly. He held his hands out. Jeremy personally put the cuffs on him, making sure to secure them in front. He knew that Monroe wasn't going to make a break for it. "Can I just have a second?" he asked.

Jeremy looked around him. The people that watched seemed upset, not grateful by what was going on. These were his friends. Sensing that allowing him a few minutes would not cause problems, he nodded his assent. "Go ahead, Bass."

Monroe walked over to where Charlie was watching helplessly. "Hey, look at me." He waited for her to make eye contact. "It's gonna be okay."

"Why are you letting them take you? We could go somewhere…" She just didn't understand. In the past he'd have fought to get away. Jeremy or not, he'd have still done what it took. And with the entire town behind him, the handful of soldiers would have been nothing.

"It's Jeremy, Charlie. They sent him for a reason." He shook his head at her. He could practically feel her trying to come up with an escape plan. "And besides, it's time to stop running. The past was bound to catch up with me at some point."

"Did you know about this ahead of time?"

_He stands in Donovan's tent. He will leave in just a few days. He's getting married tomorrow. This will be the last time he sees Donovan before they head out. He's demanded those two days to be free of all of this, to be with his family. He's about to leave when Donovan dismisses everyone else in the tent. The man is never completely alone. "Monroe, a word?" the would-be president asks as he goes to follow everyone out._

_He turns back and takes a seat. "Okay." _

_Donovan hesitates for a second. "We need to talk about what happens afterwards. You need to understand that while I appreciate what you're doing, if we win this doesn't undo everything you did as President of the Monroe Republic."_

"_So after everything you're asking of me, you're still going to punish me for that?" Monroe cannot believe this._

_Donovan sits at his desk and pours them both a drink. "I'm not saying that, but I'm not saying you're immune either. I'll only do it if I have to. If it comes down to it, I can only promise you one thing – you'll be treated fairly. I'll make sure you're given a fair trial."_

"_You do realize the only way that's possible is if you get a jury from Alaska, right?" He downs his drink and stands. He's been duly warned. _

"_I'm not trying to blindside you, but what would you do if you were in my position, Monroe?" the man looked weary, as if this has been bothering him for some time._

_Monroe looks at him from the entrance of the tent. "If it our roles were reversed? I'd have you publicly tortured and killed and let the crowds burn your image in effigy. But then again, that's probably what got me into that mess in the first place, now isn't it?" He turns and leaves. Donovan's message has been effectively delivered. He won't go out of his way to prosecute him, but he'll do whatever it takes to keep the nation stable. If his freedom interferes with that then his freedom will be forfeit. _

He sighed. "Not exactly. But I knew it wasn't off the table." Monroe reached towards her with his shackled hands and grabbed her wrists. "Go home and take care of our kids. I'll be given a fair trial, don't worry. Please don't let Miles do anything stupid." He kissed her lightly on the mouth.

Tears streaming, Charlie nodded. If they tried to break him out, it would only bring down the wrath of the army. "I love you," she said as she wrapped her arms around him.

Cuffed as he was, he could not hold her back. He settled for burying his face in her neck, head bent. "It's time," Jeremy said quietly from behind him.

As Monroe stepped back, Robert Beecher touched his arm. "Don't worry, I'll see her home. And I'll get my uncle Nick. You couldn't ask for a better lawyer."

"Thanks, Bob." He said. "Keep an eye on them, please." With that he was led away to the Army wagon that waited to take him to the train station to await his ride to Lexington.

XXXXX

Charlie burst into the front door. "He's been arrested!"

Miles had been sitting at the kitchen table, cleaning his gun. "What? By who?"

"The U.S. Who else?" Charlie explained Jeremy's presence as well. "He's to be charged with treason." Rachel came up behind her and placed an arm around her in support.

Miles stood up. "Well, time to go round up some troops of our own then. We've gotta get to him before he gets to Lexington. It'll be impossible once he's there. If we don't he's as good as dead." He turned to Aaron. "Go over to Avery's and get Connor. We're going to need him."

"You'll do no such thing," Beecher said as he came in the front door. He'd taken it upon himself to get her horses settled. "He's to be tried, a real trial with a jury." He stood in the doorway with all of the authority his title gave him. "If you try to rescue him, you won't be doing him any favors. What he needs is a lawyer. My uncle may be old, but he knows the law inside and out. If anyone can find a way to get him acquitted, it'll be Nick."

Mile whipped around to face the sheriff. "A lawyer? Are you kidding me? Johnny Cochran couldn't get him off on this."

Beecher stood firm. "He doesn't want you to go off half-cocked. He was very clear on that. You heard him, Charlie."

She sank to a chair, sadly. "He's right. Bass told me not to let you do something stupid. We have to take our chances."

Several hours later, a knock at the door broke the silence in the living room. The twins were in bed and they were all sitting in shock. Connor had come, despite the fact that no attempts at rescuing his father would be forthcoming. He rose and opened the front door. "What do you want?" he said from where he stood, out of sight from the others.

The visitor's voice was muffled. Connor returned with Jeremy Baker right behind him. "You son of a bitch!" Miles yelled as he jumped to his feet. "What the hell, Jeremy? He trusted you!"

"I bet you couldn't wait for this moment, huh? Getting your revenge for Philly?" Charlie added.

Jeremy wasn't going to take their resentment lying down. "Fuck you both. Why do you think I'm here? It cost me a lot to get Donovan to let me handle this personally. I'm the commanding general of the entire U.S. Army. Not to mention I'm exposing myself because of my history with him. Just because he's the local hero here doesn't mean that there aren't plenty of people wanting his head on a platter. I'm here to make sure he even makes it to Lexington in one piece." His words effectively shut Miles and Charlie down. "I've had to bring a small company just to make sure no one puts a bullet in him on the way. And they all had to be vetted, just in case."

"Well if you're here, who's protecting him now?" Charlie asked, more worried than ever.

Jeremy took a seat, is travel fatigues looking out of place. "Scott Walters is with him. He's been given an officer's commission and been promoted to Captain. He's quite the rising star. Bass will be safe with him."

Miles nodded. Walters was a good man and had been on friendly terms with Monroe. In fact, if it wasn't for him, he'd have died in Truman's care. "So what's going to happen?"

"He'll be taken to the capital in Lexington to stand trial. I'm not going to lie to you; they're going to tack on every charge they can think of. Donovan is not happy with your little stunt with the horses in Texas," the general explained.

Charlie narrowed her eyes. Miles had warned Monroe that it could bite them in the ass later. "We didn't break any laws. I thought that we had the freedom to sell our goods to anyone we want."

Jeremy set his glass down and stood. "And you do, horses included. But, it also got people that already were pushing for his arrest to push even harder. And on top of that, his being tried was a condition to getting the rebel factions in the northwest states to back down and stop the insurrection there."

Miles snorted in irritation. "He's Donovan's Hail Mary play."

Jeremy didn't deny it. "That's one way of putting it. Look, I've got to get back. I'll do what I can for him. I'll make sure he's treated fairly and that no one lays a hand on him – he's not going to be mistreated." He stops at the front door and comes back into the living room. "Charlie, I'll send a formal escort to bring you to him. Expect them by weeks end."

"Thank you," she said quietly as she watched him leave.

XXXX

Charlie waited with her mother and Miles in the courtroom. Priscilla and Gene had decided to stay at the inn with the twins, but Aaron would be arriving shortly with Connor. They were given seats right behind where he would sit with Nick Beecher. He was escorted into the room under armed guard. The guards placed themselves around the room. Captain Walters was in charge of the lot. He sat behind Monroe, next to Charlie. She knew she would not be allowed to talk to him, so she leaned in and whispered to Walker instead. "What's with all the guards, Captain?"

He regarded Monroe's young wife. He felt truly sorry for what she was going through. She was weeks away from having a baby and here she was. "They're for his protection, Mrs. Monroe – nothing more."

_Charlie had caught the branch line train that ran from Franklin to Lexington when Jeremy's escort had arrived several days after Monroe's arrest. It was another week after that before Jeremy could get her permission to see him. She's led to the basement of the courthouse. The lower level has been divided up into cells for prisoners awaiting trial. _

_The cell is at least dry and somewhat clean, which is more that could be said for most prisons since the blackout. At some point he'd been given a change of clothes. The faded trousers and denim shirt look so foreign on him. She is so used to the dark jeans and leather jacket he normally favored. Boots have been replaced with old tennis shoes, laces removed of course. _

_Although he looks tired, he at least is showing no obvious signs of mistreatment. The guard that lets her into his cell will not leave. He stands stoically outside the cell, but at least has the courtesy of turning away to offer them some semblance of privacy._

_He is sitting on his cot when she enters. Standing up, he waits for her to come to him and wraps his arms around her. For security, his leg is shackled to the wall. "They've got you chained?" the outrage in Charlie's voice attracts the attention of the guard. _

_He holds her tighter. "Not usually. It's just for this. When you leave it will come off. Apparently, Donovan's not taking any chances." He kisses her temple and silently wills his eyes to stay dry. Seeing her now is so hard. "God, I've missed you. How are the kids?"_

_Charlie's voice wavers as she speaks. "Good, healthy. They keep asking for you." She starts to sob against his chest. "It's so hard. I don't know if I can do this without you." _

_He backs up and looks into her eyes. "That's not the Charlie I know. You're stronger than that – you have to be." He places his hand on her belly. "Danny and Angie need you, and so will this little one." He feels the baby kick strong against his hand and smiles in spite of the shitty circumstances. "Besides, you'll have your family to help you._

_He brushes away her tears with his thumbs as he cups her face. Charlie shakes her head sadly. "For how long? They've already taken you. You know it's only a matter of time before they come for Miles. After that, who knows?"_

_He clenches is jaw. He has to tell her, and knows she's not going to handle it well. "That's not going to happen."_

"_You don't know that," Charlie argues._

_He takes a deep breath. It's now or never. "Trust me, I do."_

_Charlie backs away from him. "Bass, what did you do?" _

_He sits down on his cot again and waits for her to join him. "Charlie, I'm not fighting this. I've worked out a deal. If I plead guilty, it guarantees immunity for your entire family. They were going to eventually charge Miles for forming the Republic with me. After the entire truth about the blackout comes to light, your mom was at risk too. Plus, Gene was probably going down for helping the Patriots in Willoughby before he turned on them."_

"_And what about you? You'll – you'll die! How could you do that? You have to fight!" Her yelling sends the guard over to them. Monroe holds up a hand, indicating that they were fine._

"_I was headed for the death penalty anyway. You know that. There's no getting out of this for me. Nick's looked at every loophole in the book. Double Jeopardy doesn't count because I wasn't charged with crimes against the U.S." He lifts her chin towards him to force her to look at him. "I can at least keep them safe. Let me do this, maybe it can even make up for some of the things I've done."_

_Charlie tearfully nods. She knows what he's doing now. He's still trying to redeem himself. He no longer needs to as far as she's concerned, but if he does this on his own terms, maybe he can finally give up the guilt he's harbored for so long. "I'm staying until this is all over. Everyone else is heading up in a few days. Grandpa is already here, just in case." She places her hand over the baby she carries, emphasizing her meaning. _

_Monroe rests his head on the wall and focuses his vision on the ceiling. "No, you've got to go back. Our baby should be born at home, not here while I'm rotting in a jail cell. Charlie -" _

_She holds up her hand to stop him. "No. You're not going to go through this alone. Not this time."_

_He loses it then. He pulls her into his lap and clings to her. "God, I love you so much." _

_They sit together for some time before the guard opens the cell. "Sorry, time's up." Reluctantly, Charlie leaves him. As soon as she is out of the cell a second guard appears and removes the chain around his ankle. The cell is locked once more. The guards walk out of earshot to allow him time to say goodbye and kiss her through the bars of his cell before they return to lead her away._

"All rise," the bailiff announced. The judge entered the room. He was elderly, older even than Nick Beecher. But that did not come as a surprise. The majority of people well versed in U.S. law would be older. This is the third judge assigned to Monroe's trial, the other two having chosen to recuse themselves because they'd lived under his rule at some point since the blackout. "On this day, the ninth of May, 2031 this court is now in session, the honorable Justice Travis Brooks presiding."

Justice Brooks sat down. "You may all be seated," he said. He picked up the file that was waiting for him at his bench and flipped through it for several minutes as silence permeated the courtroom. "Mr. Beecher, does your client the charges against him?" he asked when he finally looked up.

"Yes, your honor," he said. His voice was clear and steady, despite his age.

The judge picked up one of the pages in the file and scanned it. "And as I understand it, your client wishes to enter a plea for these charges?"

"Yes your honor," Nick Beecher began. "My client is pleading guilty to all charges, save one."

The judge looked up, surprised. He'd already been told of Monroe's intentions. This was just a formality as prescribed by law before Monroe could be sentenced. "Please proceed," the judge indicated.

Beecher cleared his throat. He had a file of his own opened before him. "My client enters a plea of guilty or the following charges under Federal Law: 500 counts of murder in the first degree, genocide, unlawful imprisonment, conspiracy to commit murder, drug trafficking, torture, extortion, impersonating a public official and theft."

Charlie closed her eyes. They'd piled on every charge they can think of, and with no adequate prisons to hold him, he'd have to be cleared of all of them to stay alive. They even sought to punish him for the legalization of drugs, which was ironic as it was the only altruistic law he'd ever passed. With the lack of medicines after the blackout and very few doctors to prescribe anything, drugs such as morphine, heroin and marijuana were often the only things that people had to ease their suffering. She also noticed the one charge that wasn't present.

"And for the charge of Treason against the United States?" The judge asked.

"My client pleads not-guilty your honor," the lawyer said. He has to repeat himself at Justice Brooks' request.

The words cause an uproar throughout the courtroom. Brooks banged on his gavel repeatedly. The sound slowly brought things into order. "Mr. Beecher, perhaps you should remind your client that this charge is more than likely the hardest to defend? He stands accused of plotting to form his own government. It will be very difficult to prove his innocence when he'd taken the liberty of naming after himself!"

Monroe leaned over and whispered to his lawyer for a moment. Nick nodded in understanding before turning back to the judge. "Your honor, my client would like to request permission to address the court freely."

Brooks looked like he was trying to decide if he was intrigued or merely annoyed. "Granted," he said wearily. "Please be advised to keep your statements appropriate to this setting, Mr. Monroe."

Monroe stood up. "Thank you your honor. I am exactly what I am pleading guilty to. I'm a murderer. I've killed more people than I can count and have ordered the deaths of many more than that. I tortured people just to keep the house of cards I'd built from falling in around me, and that was even before the power drove me quite literally insane. I am a lot of things, and very few if any of them are good. I'm a drunk, I can be manipulative as hell, and I'm generally a giant prick most of the time. But I'm no traitor.

The courtroom erupted again, causing the judge to bring the room back into order. When all was quiet once more, the Judge gestured for Monroe to continue. "I loved my country - so much that I dedicated the last ten years before the blackout to the serving in the Marines. I completed two tours in Iraq, and risked my life every day for my country. And after the lights went out, I stayed at my post for two months before word got out that the government was simply gone. In that time I watched my brothers in arms die of illness, commit suicide, go AWOL and go crazy, but I still stayed until we realized that orders would never come. It was over three years after that when I began to form the militia. There was no U.S. Government left to commit treason against."

Monroe knew he was pushing it, but he was determined. "So, no your honor. I will not plead guilty to treason. I will not put myself in the same category as Jack Davis or anyone else that orchestrated the blackout. My children deserve to grow up knowing that of all the rotten, horrible things I've done, being a traitor was not one of them. They don't deserve that mark against them."

The judge thought about what entering a not guilty plea could mean. "We'll take a short recess. Counselors, I want to see you both in my chambers. _Now. _

They waited for half an hour. In that time, Charlie was not allowed to speak to Monroe, but Walters did overlook her reaching across and placing his hand on his shoulder from her seat to show her support. The judge returned to the bench and announced that the recess was over as the lawyers returned to their seats.

Nick Beecher and Monroe whispered back and forth for several minutes, discussing what had gone on in the judge's chamber before the lawyer addressed the judge. "Your honor, my client would like to change one of his pleas."

The judge nodded. "Proceed."

Nick continued. "Mr. Monroe would like to withdraw the plea of not-guilty for the charge of treason." He looked at Monroe, who nodded his approval. "He would like to use the Alford plea in regards to this charge."

The judge now looked directly at Monroe. "Mr. Monroe, you understand that by entering an Alford plea you are maintaining your innocence, however you are acknowledging that the prosecution has enough evidence that a reasonable jury would likely convict you of the charge, is that correct?"

"Yes, your honor," Monroe said quietly.

"And you also understand that this court will sentence you as it would any other form of guilty plea?" Brooks continued.

"Yes, your honor."

The judge turned to the Prosecutor. "Mr. Matthews do you have a problem with the defendant's use of the Alford plea?"

The prosecutor looked up. "Your honor, the People will accept the defendant's decision to use the Alford plea on the charge of treason as long as the other pleas still stand as previously entered."

The judge addressed the court. "The change in plea is granted." He banged his gavel. "Will the defendant please rise."

Monroe and Nick stood. "Mr. Monroe, you have waived your right to a trial by jury. As such we will move onto sentencing. Due to the severity of your crimes, and as prescribed by federal law and the laws of the Commonwealth State of Kentucky you are hereby sentenced to death."

Monroe nodded his understanding. "As agreed upon by the prosecution, your sentence will be carried out thirty days from now. Until that time you will remain in custody. I have considered your petition in regards to the method of your execution, and I have decided to postpone my decision so that I may review it further. We will reconvene in two weeks, where I will give you my decision." The judge banged his gavel once more and left the bench. Charlie watch as Monroe was put back in shackles and led away.

_He is allowed to see just Charlie and Miles after his sentencing. "What the hell was that all about?" Miles asks as he paces inside the cell. Charlie has already told him about the plea bargain, so he was expecting it. _

"_Would you want to die being labeled as a traitor when people in our own government were the reason we were in Philly in the first place? It was a risk, but it worked out in the end," Monroe argues._

"_What do you mean, Bass?" Charlie asks. _

_Monroe sits down next to where she is perched on his cot. "They were initially going to kill me in the morning. Now I've got a month and the judge has ordered that I get to be there when the baby comes, if you're still in town for it. I'd have pled guilty to pretty much anything for that chance." _

"_The judge said you'd petitioned him about the method. What's with that?" Miles asks as he starts to think and plan._

_Monroe shrugs. "They want to use lethal injection. Been there and done that."_

_Charlie looks at him. "What on earth did you request?" _

"_Firing squad." Miles and Charlie stare at him, slack jawed. He doesn't notice that the guard outside his cell is equally stunned. "What? The thought of a hanging is creepy. Miles, remember when we used to say we'd rather go down in a rain of bullets than die in our sleep, well maybe I'll get that chance."_

_Miles shakes his head in exasperation. "Your flair for the dramatic is sickening at times, man." Miles catches the look on the guard's face that indicates his agreement._

"_Well, if I've got to go out, I'd rather go out in style."_

Connor and Miles disappeared the day after Monroe's hearing and sentencing. He'd found out about it from Nick Beecher, who was the only person allowed to visit him daily. From his lawyer he found out that he'd be allowed a 24 hour furlough under the supervision of Captain Walters to watch his child enter the world. After that he'd be allowed to see his family in two weeks and again the entire day before the execution.

With Nick's help he filled out a will, leaving everything to Charlie. He also arranged for John Greene to stay on permanently as the overseer for the farm. The repairs to their buildings had been completed just as Daniel had promised over the winter and with the borrowed livestock from several of his neighbors, Brian Greene was already working to restore their property to what it was before the war. John was content to let him run it himself. Avery had sent him a message with Connor stating that he'd help Charlie in any way he could. The wedding between his daughter and Monroe's son would be postponed. They hadn't felt right to celebrate in light of recent events.

It was a little over a week later when he was summoned in the middle of the night. Scott Walters stood there holding the key to the cell. "Well are you coming or not? If she has the baby before dawn, I win the pot."

He pulled his clothes on as fast as he could. "The guards had a bet going on? Isn't that a bit morbid, all things considered?"

"Like you're one to talk. Matheson told me about the jar you buried with a rotting corpse." He unlocked the cell so Monroe could leave.

"That was entirely different. For one, I had to do something with the extra body. And for another thing it was funny."

Walter's just laughed as he pointed to where Monroe's shackles waited. "Sorry, but orders are orders. Gotta cuff you for the trip."

Monroe suffered the indignity. Walters and his men led him through the streets of Lexington until they came across the small house that Charlie had decided to rent. It was cheaper than staying at the inn for the next month. As soon as they entered the door, the cuffs were removed. After a simple reminder that any attempts on running would result in trouble for everyone, Monroe was allowed to climb the stairs and find Charlie. She was laying in the bed, panting through a contraction.

He went to her side and grabbed her hand. When the pain subsided he kissed her. "You're here," she said as she laid her head back on the pillow. Over the next several hours he stayed by her side. Gene checked her periodically, but it seemed that this baby was no more eager to begin its life than his brother and sister had been.

Walters made a decision and reinterpreted the judge's order. "As far as I know you are allowed to be here for the birth and then the first twenty-four hours," was all he said before going back to the game of poker he was playing with his men.

After that first day, Charlie had actually gotten fed up with Monroe's presence. The contractions were horrible, and she couldn't tell if she was trying to break his hand or he was trying to break hers. She knew he was a mess. "Captain!" She'd finally shouted. Walters ran in, halfway expecting for her to tell him Monroe had freaked out and climbed out the window. "Please take my husband downstairs and get him drunk before I kill him three weeks too early!"

"Yes, Ma'am," Walters said with a smile. "You heard the lady. Don't make me cuff you to the kitchen table."

With that, the guards went about the happy duty of getting their charge good and plowed while Charlie's mother took over at her bedside. Jeremy had been sneaky and assigned men that had been in Providence before the war to Monroe's guard/security detail, so at the very least he had people he liked to drink with.

Rachel came downstairs to tell him it was time. He'd dozed off at some point and had almost sobered up. He took the stairs two at a time while Rachel laughed with a bemused look on her face. She stopped him at the door. "Wash up first. There's no nano to fix things this time, Bass." She took him into the next room where she doused his hands with alcohol and made him put on the post-blackout equivalent of scrubs.

He made it to her side just in time to watch his daughter come into the world. Rachel cleaned up her youngest granddaughter while Gene delivered the afterbirth and checked Charlie over. Despite the length of her labor, everything had gone easy and he declared that she was fine. Monroe picked her up so Gene could change the sheets and then he got her cleaned up. Rachel handed him the baby while she got settled and left them alone.

The moment was bittersweet for him. He was just as awed by the baby he held as he was by her older siblings when they were born, but he knew that he'd only get to see her a handful of times, and then he'd be gone. Determined not to waste what time he had, he joined Charlie on the bed while she nursed the baby for the first time. "What should we name her?" she asked him.

He watched them together while he thought. "Hope," he finally said.

"Hope what?" Charlie asked. Since she'd taken him out of naming Angie and Danny, Charlie had already decided that given the circumstances she'd let him name their youngest child whatever he wanted.

"Just… Hope."

She smiled as she leaned over to kiss him. "Okay, Hope it is." He got up to get the baby settled before he joined Charlie back on the bed. He held her close, afraid to talk. Tomorrow they could worry about what was coming in the future. For now he just wanted to be near her. This would be the last time they'd share a bed together and he didn't want to waste a minute of it.

The next morning Priscilla, Aaron returned from a stay at the inn with the twins. It was everything Monroe could do to keep them from pouncing on their mother. Everyone kept their distance and let him have the time alone with Charlie and all three kids. Before long, it was time for him to go back. He held Hope one last time before giving her to Charlie. "I'll see you in a week or so, okay." He told her before kissing her gently.

Danny and Angie followed him all the way to the door. He bent down and gave them each a hug. "Daddy go home now?" Danny asked, already starting to pout.

He knelt down and pulled them both to him. "I have to go away for just a little bit. Be good for Mommy and Grammy, okay? I'll see you soon."

Rachel led them away and into the small back yard where Brodie had been cooling his heels, having decided that the guards were not welcome in the house. He was cuffed again and led outside. He could hear the twins squealing over some new discovery. Walters gave him a second to greet the dog at the gate. He gave him a pat over the fence. "Keep a good eye on them, boy." With a nod, he walked back to where the guards waited and allowed himself to be led back to the cell that awaited him beneath the courthouse.

The following Monday Monroe and Nick Beecher found himselfs back before Justice Brooks. "I have considered your petition, Mr. Monroe." The judge began. "Due to your previous botched execution and the torture you endured by the patriots involving various chemicals, I am inclined to agree that in your case lethal injection could be construed to be cruel and unusual punishment, and therefore a violation of your constitutional rights."

Monroe released the breath he'd been holding. He'd been convinced that his request would be denied. "Thank you, your honor."

"The only other method for execution on the books in Kentucky is the electric chair, which obviously isn't an option these days. As such, I have no other recourse but to allow your requested method of…" The judge looked back over the papers in front of him, "ah yes, firing squad."

The judge banged the gavel and ended the hearing. Monroe turned to face Walters and held his hands out. He was actually smiling over the decision. Miles and Connor had been the only ones present for this hearing. Charlie had been unable to make it because of the baby, but he would see her the following day. "You really are a sick fuck, Bass." Miles said quietly. Monroe wasn't allowed to respond, so he shrugged in response before he was led back downstairs.

Miles and Connor had returned the previous morning. The next day when they were allowed to see him, they refused to talk about where they'd been but they seemed especially low. The visit was brief and was limited to just Charlie, Miles and Connor. Charlie was allowed to bring baby Hope because she was nursing, so he did get to hold his daughter for just a few minutes.

XXXXX

Because of public safety, the execution was to be held outside. There was an empty building next door to the courthouse. The side of it would be used to block any bullet that happened to miss, however it was unlikely that would be the case. A special section was roped off Monroe's family. Charlie stood side by side with the rest of her family, Connor, Priscilla and Aaron. Gene was at the rental house with the twins and Hope. They did not need to see their father die.

The Army had cordoned off the street, allowing for only fifty witnesses. Many of the others consisted of the newly re-established press and several people that had lost loved ones during Monroe's reign over the Republic.

_As a last sign of compassion, Justice Brooks had allowed him unfettered access to his family during his last day on earth. Aaron and Priscilla were not allowed to see him for more than a few minutes because they were not related by blood or marriage, but at least he'd been able to say goodbye. _

_He spends the entire day with the others, trying to pretend that it's just another day – that he will not be dead minutes after dawn. They were granted access just after breakfast and will be allowed to stay until midnight._

_A meal is brought in at midday, but no one can really eat. Miles and Monroe spend a good deal of time talking about the good old days – growing up in Jasper and their exploits as Marines. They reminisce about all the good things in life from before the world went mad. He holds hope while he talks with Angie and Danny and Charlie glued to the cot he's sitting on. _

_Connor stands off to the side. For the most part he just listens to his father trade stories with Miles. He doesn't know what to say. He's finally learned to forgive his father for the death of his mother and for not giving him the republic (mostly thanks to Katie's influence). More than anything, Rachel and Gene are there to support Charlie and Miles. _

_The hours pass quickly and before long they are almost out of time. Dawn is approaching. The twins had fallen asleep on his cot and are woken up shortly after the guard tells Monroe that it's time to wrap things up. He stands near the entrance of his cell. Rachel and Gene go to say goodbye to him. "I'm so sorry, for everything," Monroe tells them. He said the same thing at his last execution, but he hopes that this time they will realize how much he means it._

_Gene shakes his hand and leaves. He has had an interesting relationship with the former dictator over the past few years. Both men don't especially like each other, but they'd come to a comfortable understanding and have at least learned to respect one another. _

_Monroe goes to offer the same gesture to Rachel, but she ignores it. Instead she hugs him awkwardly, pausing to whisper into his ear. "I forgive you, Bass." She does not go up to join her father, but instead stands outside the cell to help Charlie with the kids. _

_Connor hugs his father one last time. Monroe squeezes his shoulder. "I'm proud of you. Please be better than me. Marry your girl and start a family - be happy. Watch out for Charlie and take care of your brother and sisters, okay? Please keep them safe for me."_

"_I will. I love you dad." Connor has never said those words to him before, and he barely chokes them out now. He leaves before he loses it._

_Miles has never been good at expressing himself and today is no different. They lock eyes for several minutes. Charlie watches as they seem to have an entire conversation this way. They both nod at the same time and Miles shakes his hand before pulling him into a hug. "Semper fi," Miles says as he walks away._

"_Semper fi, brother." _

_How does one say goodbye to their children for the last time. He holds Hope and rocks her back and forth for a few moments. He kisses her forehead, Rachel steps back into the cell for just a moment to take the baby. The twins are two and don't understand. They keep saying that it's time to go home. He crouches down and pulls them both into his arms. He gives them both a kiss as he fights back his tears and tells them he loves them._

_Charlie points them in the direction of Miles and Rachel. "Go see Grammy and Miles," she tells them. She turns and they just stand there and stare; the moment seems surreal. She breaks the spell by flinging herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. They hold on for dear life. "Don't cry. It's okay," he tells her, repeating his words from the day he was first arrested._

_Monroe's voice tells her that he's not going to be following his own advice much longer. She squeezes her eyes shut and concentrates on the way his arms feel around her. She doesn't want to forget what this feels like. His heart is pounding in his chest, and she can feel it against her own. "I'm so sorry I couldn't find a way to save you." she sobs. _

"_Hey. No, don't do that. You did save me. The second you fell in that damn empty pool you started to save me. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me." Monroe presses his lips to her temple and then to the top of her head. "You brought me back; made me whole again. Never forget that."_

_Charlie gets herself partially under control. "I love you, Sebastian Monroe."_

"_I love you, Charlotte Monroe." He squeezes her tight, unsure of how he's going to be able to let go. The guards do it for him. They pull he couple apart and lead her out of the cell. In the only moment of defiance towards the guards since his arrest, Monroe wrestles past the guards and runs to Charlie. _

_Cupping Charlie's face he crashes his mouth down on hers. The guards look at each other and shrug. They decide to allow him to kiss his wife one last time. Their lips move desperately together for several minutes before he breaks away. As he steps back towards his cell, Charlie and Miles watch him. After all the years Miles has known him, he's never seen Monroe look truly afraid before now. He will spend the next five hours waiting alone. _

They all watched as Monroe was brought out. A long chain connected his feet and hands. Before Captain Walters walked away, he took a risk and dug a flask out of his pocket. In friendship, he offered Monroe one last drink. With a halfhearted smile, Monroe raised it to his lips and took the last sip of whiskey that would ever cross his lips. He handed it back and shook hands with the young captain before the guards under his command got Monroe in position. The shackles were removed long enough to chain him to a post that had been set up for the occasion.

He looked down and locks eyes with Charlie one last time. Justice Brooks read off the list of crimes that he will die for. He was offered a brief chance to speak, and he was then blindfolded. The squad consisted of six men. Time slowed for Monroe as he waited. He heard their squad leader start to count down from ten. The sound of gunfire rang out in the morning.

XXXXX

Five days later:

Several newspapers were scattered around the kitchen table. Two were held open by those sitting at the table. Aaron began to read.

"_As the members of the press were led past the barriers that had been erected to block the general_ _public from the execution, protests could be heard from either side. More than one observer expressed surprise that the number of those gathered to protest the sentence and demand clemency for the deposed general had actually outnumbered those that had gathered to celebrate the morbid gala._

_Beyond the circus that only the public can provide, the air was more solemn. General Monroe's family stood quietly off to one side. The press was told to stand in the center, as to provide a buffer between his the family and those witnesses that had come on behalf of some of the victims of the Monroe Republic. _

_Sebastian Monroe himself was brought out several minutes later, after the judge and firing squad had already taken their places. Throughout Monroe's incarceration there have been guards assigned to keep him both alive and imprisoned. Several reports over the past couple of months have reached the press involving plots to both assassinate Monroe and aid in his escape. _

_The murmurs that were heard from the witnesses suggested that the majority of those present had never even seen the man before. After the events of the day, one Fred Smith of Waukesha, WI went on record to say, "I thought he'd be taller."_

"Who did they expect, the Jolly Green Giant?" Priscilla interrupted. "Since when is six feet not considered tall?"

Aaron waited for her to quiet down before continuing.

_Still, even with months of incarceration, this reporter cannot help but to admit that Monroe still appeared as a striking and imposing figure." _Aaron stopped reading for a second to take a drink of his coffee. "Sounds like someone had a crush," he said as he looked for where he'd left off.

"_The camaraderie he shared with the Captain of his guard detail was apparent when he was slipped a flask for one final drink before he was bound to the post. The judge read the charges for which Monroe had been found guilty and gave Monroe the opportunity to speak before he was blindfolded. His final words were recorded as follows:_

_I set out to make things better, and I'm sorry that I couldn't. I never wanted the stupid thing in the first place and I'm so sorry that I let it get to me and took things too far. I regret everything that I've done more than anyone can ever know._

_At Exactly 5:41 a.m. the Sergeant in charge of the volunteer squad of six riflemen began to countdown. Prior to the execution, the press was informed that as is tradition, one of the rifles was loaded with a wax filled cartridge so that the riflemen would not know who fired the fatal shot and that the number in the count down that would start the shooting was chosen at random."_

Aaron was interrupted again quite abruptly. "I really wish you'd stop reading those stupid things out loud." Monroe lowered the paper he'd been reading so he could grab his own coffee. "Some of us are trying to read real news," he said as he raised the cup to his lips.

Charlie rolled her eyes. "Keep reading, Aaron. Grumpy face can read – well whatever the hell he's found so interesting- later."

"I happen to be reading an article about wheat prices, which will affect your little world very much in the next few weeks when the harvest is in, I'll have you know." He snapped. He held his coffee cup up, hoping Priscilla would take the hint and refill it. When she didn't, set the paper down and went to the stove to do it himself.

Charlie laughed at him. "Wow, that's so… boring."

Monroe sat down once more. "I think I've had enough drama and excitement for one lifetime, thank you very much."

As he spoke two little sleepy faces peered around the corner. Angie ran over to him. "Daddy! Daddy! Potty!"

Grateful to have something to do other than listen to Aaron read the rest of the article (it being the third one that he'd had to suffer through this morning alone), he escorted the twins out to the outhouse. Potty training was so far going fairly well, except for the fact that Danny never seemed to be able to wait for his sister to finish when she went first. He tended to pee wherever he wanted when he got sick of waiting. "Come on Danny, you can't just whip it out wherever you want," he groaned.

"Pee!" the boy squealed in response.

Monroe did his best not to laugh, but it was really hard when the kid got so excited about it.

Back in the kitchen, Aaron continued to read:

"_No one could have been more surprised than Monroe when the shot that was heard had not come from the firing squad but from the commanding general of our own army, General Jeremy Baker. Within moments the judge left and the prisoner was taken away with the witnesses left in confusion. General Baker escorted Mrs. Monroe and her Uncle, former General Miles Matheson off the premises while the rest of us were instructed to wait for an official statement._

_At 7:15 a.m. Justice Trevor Brooks appeared before the remaining witnesses and issued the following statement:_

_The execution of Sebastian Monroe has been commuted. By executive order, President Donovan has signed a full pardon granting Mr. Monroe his life and liberty. Monroe and his family will be escorted to an undisclosed location for their own security for the duration of their stay in Lexington. President Donovan has made it clear that Sebastian Monroe is extended forgiveness by the United States of America for all the crimes for which he has been convicted, given the circumstances surrounding the blackout and his rise to power. The President would also like it known that his service in restoring the United States has not been forgotten._

_Justice Brooks later went on record in an interview to say, "It is my personal opinion that this trial and execution were political in nature. Such political maneuvering is what resulted in the blackout in the first place – without such, the Monroe Republic never would have been. It is because of this that I believe a great miscarriage of justice has been prevented this day."_

Aaron skipped the rest of the article as it only contained a brief biography of Monroe's life from before the blackout. When the subject of the article returned with the twins he was more than happy that he'd missed the rest of it. "I swear if you read another one, I'm going to smother you in your sleep with every damn newspaper in Providence." Charlie smacked him upside the head as he sat down to reclaim his coffee. "Ow! What the hell was that for?"

She smacked him again. "Language! Those two are going to start repeating you," she admonished as she pointed to the twins.

He looked over to where Danny and Angie were playing with Brodie on the floor while Priscilla filled their plates. "They aren't even paying attention."

"Damn newspaper!" Angie exclaimed then with a giggle.

Not to be outdone by his sister in getting their father in trouble Danny started to chanting. "Damn! Hell! Damn!"

Charlie smacked him a third time just for good measure. "Okay, maybe you have a point there," he admitted.

_The sound of a gun going off nearby makes him tense up as he waits for the impact of the bullet, but to Monroe's surprise it never comes. The witnesses start to shout at the same time. He can't see what's going on around him, so all he can do is wait. The shackles are removed and before he can say or do anything else, he is quickly led away. As soon as the hands on him let go, he pulls the blindfold from his face._

_He blinks a few times to adjust his eyes to the light. He is in the courthouse. He's led down a back hallway and told to wait in front of a closed door. An hour goes by when the door is opened by the judge's clerk. He enters, finding that Justice Brooks has already arrived and is sitting behind the desk, looking over something. Nick Beecher is already there waiting for him. "Have a seat," Brooks tells him._

"_Your honor?" he asks in confusion as he sinks into one of the chairs._

"_It seems you have nine lives, Mr. Monroe." The judge says, handing him a letter._

_He scans the contents. "… by executive order, Sebastian Monroe, former President and General of the Monroe Republic is hereby offered clemency for services rendered during the Patriot war and for his assistance with the re-establishment of the one true United States Government, which has led to the arrest of former Secretary of Defense Davis. A full Presidential Pardon has been granted. Signed President Thomas Donovan." He reads the letter aloud to himself, still not believing. In a daze, he hands it back to Justice Brooks. "I… I don't understand."_

_The door opens behind him. Monroe rises and sees Charlie entering. Moments later she is in his embrace. "What is happening?" she asks. Jeremy has not told her or Miles anything, just that they are to come to the courthouse immediately._

"_I've – I've been pardoned," he stammers. He holds her close. "They're letting me go." Miles enters the room a few minutes later, followed closely by Jeremy. "I don't get it. Why the hell did Donovan make me go through all of this if he was just going to pardon me anyway?" _

"_He wasn't," Jeremy explains as he comes forward. "But he was able to get what he wanted without killing you."_

_Miles feels his legs start to turn to jelly, so he sits down in the chair that Monroe has vacated. Relief washes over him. "He did it. The dirty old son of a bitch actually did it."_

_Monroe looks over Charlie's head at him. "Who? What are you talking about?"_

"_After the trial, Connor and I took a train to Austin. We tried to convince Carver to use the treaty Donovan wanted him to sign as leverage, but he wouldn't budge. So when we went to Blanchard he said he'd work on him, but the chances were pretty slim." Miles is now grinning from ear to ear. "He must have somehow figured out a way though."_

_The judge sits back and watches the exchange. He is as curious as the others. This whole thing has never sat right with him, and he'd like to know the reason for the change. Jeremy pulls a document out of the inner pocket of his uniform jacket. "The story won't break until tomorrow, but as it turned out a few days after you left Austin, Carver broke his neck when he fell from his horse during a photo op for the Austin Star Times. General Frank Blanchard is now the President of Texas. He hopped on a train to Washington after he was inaugurated and signed the treaty and pledged to help assist with the insurrection in the northwest states. They've completely backed down. If they try to separate again, Texas will likely back the U.S. and they'll be up shit's creek."_

_He hands the document he's been holding to Monroe. He reads it to himself. "Huh? I've been pardoned by Texas too. Well isn't that something?"_

_Jeremy gives him a stern look. "Yeah, here's the thing. There's a condition to the pardon Blanchard is offering you. It seems that someone has been harassing him with some adorable little political cartoons. If you don't want them to come looking for you and you want Blanchard to keep paying you to get dibs on your horses, it had better stop."_

_Miles lets out a laugh. "Please tell me you didn't?"_

_He does his best too look innocent. "I have no idea what he's talking about, Miles." _

_Jeremy clears his throat as he produces a folded up piece of paper. On it was a caricature of Blanchard and a femme fatale dressed as a dominatrix. Her head has been drawn in a weird shape._

_Charlie looks over at it cocking her head to get a better view. "Is it just me, or does her head look like a walnut?"_

_Miles snatches the picture out of Jeremy's hand. "Yep, you did it." he says as he looks at it. "Hey this is actually kind of good. I forgot that you could draw. You are seriously messed up, you know that right?"_

_Busted, Monroe shrugs. "You try being locked up for a couple of months. It gets really boring. It was Walters' fault, really. He should know better than to trust me with a pencil."_

"_Jesus, Bass. How many did you send the poor guy?" Miles asks._

"_I dunno, a couple."_

_Jeremy shakes his head at him. "Eleven. You sent him eleven in total, and bribed one of Walters' men to send him an entire box of walnuts too. What is wrong with you?"_

_Charlie rolls her eyes. She doesn't know exactly what the inside joke is, but she knows it's there somewhere. "You have the most messed up sense of humor out of anyone that I have ever known."_

_Another shrug is his initial response. "Well at least it worked. It must have amused Blanchard or he wouldn't have helped me."_

"_Yeah, not so much," Miles says. "It looks like I've got to go break the news to Rachel that we're Texas bound." He stands up and heads to the door._

_Monroe stops him before he can escape. "What do you mean by that?"_

"_You can't get something for nothing, Bass." He sits back down. He knows that he's about to get in trouble for what he is about to say. At least the judge is there to make sure Charlie doesn't kick his ass. "Blanchard came to Kentucky last winter for a whole lot of reasons. One was to offer me a job. If he won the election he wanted me to come and work for them. He wants me to oversee the Ranger training program."_

"_And you told him you'd do it? Why the hell didn't you say anything?" Monroe is a little pissed that Miles had agreed to work for Blanchard and hasn't told him. It seems like that'd be something you'd tell your lifelong friend._

_Miles sighs. He can see the daggers that Charlie is shooting at him with her eyes. Monroe just looks a little hurt. "Because I told him no. But, I told him that if he helped get your sentence commuted, I would do it. Your mom is going to kill me, Charlie. I didn't tell her either."_

_Jeremy laughs. "Yeah, have fun with that conversation. Rachel is a scary person as it is." He extends a hand to Monroe. "Well Bass, I've got work to do. I've spent enough time dicking off on your behalf. Walters will escort you guys to a safe house for the night once the crowd dies down a little. I have a feeling people are going to go a little crazy when they realize you're surviving a second execution."_

The middle of July is hot as hell, but Connor and Katie's wedding had been postponed long enough. They stood gathered in Julie Carter's garden while Nick Beecher performed the ceremony under the canopy that Monroe had helped Avery set up the day before. Having decided that the farming life isn't for him, Connor had accepted a position to work with Nick's nephew, Bob. He'd never considered being a deputy before, but the population was rising in their community and Beecher could really use the extra help.

After Connor and Katie disappear from the reception, Monroe and Charlie make their way home with the twins and Hope. Monroe has nice buzz going and is in a good mood. After the twins are asleep and the baby fed and in her crib, they head to bed themselves. It's not particularly late but Aaron and Priscilla aren't home yet, and Monroe just happens to know that Gene had given Charlie the green light to resume normal levels of activity. It's been six weeks and all is well.

He shut the door and watched her. Charlie was wearing the sundress that Sarah made her for the occasion and was in the process of unpinning her hair. He came up behind her and took over the task, nibbling on the back of her neck as he worked.

Before she knew what was happening, he picked her up and dropped her unceremoniously on the bed. Kicking his shoes off, he joined her. They made up for lost time, making love slowly, savoring every sigh and every caress. Their lives had suffered from one interruption after another and he was determined to take advantage of every moment he had with her. If anyone thought it funny that their youngest child - a son named Chance was only eleven months younger than Hope, they at least had the courtesy not to say anything. Nor did they mention how unusual it was for his grandchildren to grow up alongside his children.

Four years later, Miles' enlistment with the Rangers had expired, so he and Rachel came back to Kentucky. Miles made sure to point out to Monroe as often as he could that he was a dick for aging so gracefully. Miles definitely looked every bit of his fifty-four years, whereas at almost a year younger than him, the only major difference that they could see is that Monroe had finally started to get a little gray in his beard.

Of course as soon as Miles picked up on that subtle change, all Monroe had to do was shave it off, problem solved. "I was always prettier than you," he ribbed Miles one evening over a glass of whiskey while they watched his four youngest children race around the yard trying to catch fireflies, while Brodie barked and ran around happily. Rachel and Priscilla were helping Katie with her new baby while Connor had gone with Aaron to deliver twelve newly halter broke horses to Texas.

Charlie joined them on the porch swing. When she refused the glass her husband offered her, he gave her a bewildered look. "Charlie?"

"You're fault entirely," she told him as she put her head on his shoulder, leaving him to figure out the rest.

He pulled her into his lap as he considered the fact that they were going to have to add on to the house eventually. "I don't care if this one's a boy or a girl; we're naming it Sebastian Jr." Monroe's words made miles groan. The last thing he wanted to hear was them talk about procreating.

Charlie only laughed at him. "Yeah, good luck with that."

The End.

**A/N2.0 : First of all to anyone that's stayed with me this whole time, thank you very much for following along and reading. Anyone and everyone that has been kind enough to offer comments, thoughts, criticism and/or support, thank you very much. I really appreciate it. **

**Now for a few random things: Just so you know there really is an Alford Plea. It's both heavily praised and heavily criticized in the legal field. I don't know why the whole trial thing was so important, but when I first started this story, I knew I wanted to end it there. Throughout the story, Monroe has slowly gained forgiveness from those he's wronged little by little but the two people that still could not forgive him were Rachel and himself. **

**At the end of season 1, Rachel makes a big deal about him having made excuses and not accepting the blame for the things he's done. In accepting his execution willingly (rather than as an unhappy accident in Willoughby) he's finally doing that on the most basic of levels, I think. I guess it's kind of open to interpretation though, so please let me know what you thought (was it a bit much?)**

**The story started with three random scenes: the capture by Truman, The existence of Donovan and the Trial. The rest of it kind of sprang up around it, so I hope I made it work the way I'd intended. This is by far the longest story I've written – let me tell you it's hard to remember random facts and character names, so if at any point I've contradicted myself, my most humble apologies. **

**So thanks again! **


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